To Not Be Apparent
by 13AkiraKuranXIII
Summary: That was all it took. Almost like a lock had been broken, Harry felt power surging inside him. "You know the spell, Harry." A long short story about Harry's fall from grace, when those closest to him betray him. Slightly OOC. Rated M for rape. R & R!
1. Chapter 1

To Not Be Apparent

It was a perfectly normal day in Little Whinging, Privet Drive. The mid-July sun mercilessly pounded the pristine pavements with its scorching rays. In one house, identical to those across, at the side and behind it, a family of three resided in the living room.

A large red-faced man lounged in an armchair. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, only to be wiped away by an old, damp cloth. The drone of the weatherman was briefly shunned by the boorish verbalisations of consumption of an equally boorish young boy. Bustling about the kitchen, a skinny housewife located a pair of spare batteries suitable for the handheld fan clutched in her twig-like fingers. Amidst the heated environment a young, thin boy crouched in the garden beside a bunch of Daffodils. A pile of dead leaves and a small watering can lay next to him. His dry throat yearned for the water and he was almost tempted into drinking it. The thought was quickly subdued as he absently rubbed the red cheek, not fond of the idea of a matching red cheek. Instead he lifted the can and emptied the remaining mouth-watering moisture onto the parched plant. Picking up the breathless leaves, he deposits them into the green, plastic tomb.

"Boy!"

A sigh escapes him. The brief moment of tranquillity ends and the boy obediently returns to the house.

_-HP-_

It is in the evening and a young boy with black hair is nursing a bruised shoulder after destroying a perfectly normal dinner and spoiling a perfectly delivered cut of beef. He blankly gazed around the familiar walls until he came across his glorious white treasure, his friend. A genuine smile crossed his seemingly gaunt face as she hooted in reply to his stare. Slowly rising, the boy slightly staggered to her cage, gently lifting his finger to lovingly stroke her head. In response she tilted her head and nipped the side of his hand. His stomach growled and he broke away from his affectionate owl. Quietly moving, he made his way to the side of his bed where he crouched and began slowly pressing the floorboards. Finally a board gave slightly under his palm, lifting up on the other side, and when he took it out a carefully placed box greeted him. Once onto his bed the boy opened the box to reveal a small collection of snacks, bottles of water and a couple of cans of fizzy pop. He took out a packet of crisps, two biscuits and a can of pop before placing the box and board rightfully in their places. After his meal the boy hid away all evidence in what was a previous Christmas present, an old sock, to be thrown away early the next morning.

"I'm sorry." He whispered sincerely.

A comforting hoot was his only answer.

_-HP-_

"You idiot boy!"

Flinching, the young boy apologizes to his furious Uncle. Though he knows the blow is inevitable. As if responding to his thoughts, the hand strikes his cheek and his body rears to his right from the force. A hand gripping his torn jumper jerks him back and right into another punch. He tries to mute his gasps and cries as they only anger and encourage the man. Shamefully he turns his saddened gaze to the floor. _I can't do anything right_, he hatefully thought. Biting his bottom lip in frustration he remembers a certain man's death…and a certain mad witch. Shaking, the hatred swirls within him and his Uncle suddenly lets go, as if burned. The broken plant pot is forgotten for the moment as Uncle and Nephew glare into each other's eyes. Reluctantly the man turns.

"Clean it up." He says, before heading back out of the kitchen and into the living room.

For a while the boy stares at the wall where the man's eyes where. A wet sensation trailing down his lips distracts him; he blinks as if breaking from a gaze and releases his bottom lip. Reaching up he places a finger gently on the tender spot. Surprised, he finds a crimson mark upon his finger. Sighing he wipes away the blood, remembering not to bite so hard next time.

_-HP-_

The beatings or punishments, as he thought they were at first, were gradually becoming more severe he noted. Worryingly so, it appeared his Uncle _enjoyed_ hurting him. His presence in the house had become quite dangerous; a simple, careless mistake would mean harsh punishment. Why only at breakfast this morning he had been viciously slapped due to placing his Uncle's coffee down too loudly on the table. In the corner of his room a quiet chuckle escaped him. How ironic, he left more at risk here than anywhere in the Wizarding World. At least there he could try to protect himself; here he was helpless and easily overpowered by his monstrous Uncle. His lips twisted to form a sneer, _and it was all HIS fault, _he thought angrily.

Grimacing, he slowly got up. Stretching his legs he gave a slight gasp as his chest twinged in discomfort. The child, or rather whale, had joined in today, 'helping' to 'educate' him. Although he ran out of energy quickly, the fat fists certainly packed a punch, often leaving Harry wheezing and winded. Finally after a few agonizingly long weeks of suppression, a part of his emotions broke free. Unable to stop them the boy slammed his fist into the wall from where he stood facing the wall from the side. His arm shook under the strain of keeping it lifted.

"Dammit! Dammit! I can't take any more of this. Dumbledore…please. Dumbledore help me!" he howled, sinking to his knees. The pain in his chest flared, clutching his sore ribs he fell, landing on his side.

And that is where the great Harry Potter lay, curled up in pain for the rest of the night.

_-HP-_

"Shut up."

A hoot.

"Damn birds shut up!"

Another.

Groaning the boy opened his eyes, the right side of his face ached where his glasses, pressed against the floor, had dug into his skin. The boy, Harry, adjusted them to ease the discomfort. He rose, pleased to find the ribs he thought were broken to be only sprained as the pain lessened. Harry turned around, remembering a bird's hooting and stopped.

_-HP-_

It was another sunny day in the perfectly normal street. The birds happily sung, a man walking whistled and the cool breeze seemed to howl softly in response.

_-HP-_

Disbelief.

"N-No…this…can't b-be happening…"

An empty cage greeted him. The bars, crudely cut and twisted, were unfamiliar. The strangeness of the scene struck Harry hard. _This is not how things are meant to be! _His wide eyes took in the sight. Feathers, lots of feathers lay curled up on the floor. But they weren't Hedwig's feathers…No. These were mostly red. _Hedwig had white feathers didn't she? Didn't she? _Startled, Harry gasped as the clump of red feathers shifted slightly.

And hooted.

A strangled cry left Harry as he rushed to cradle the mass of red. So much red.

"O-Oh…Oh God…"

_-HP-_

Children were making their way to the park, intent on making the most out of the summer break. A giggle escaped a girl's lips as her mother tickled her, kissing her cheek and telling her to be home in time for dinner. Waving, the girl ran to her friends and off they ran, on another adventure.

_-HP-_

A hoot. Though it was sad and not like Hedwig at all.

"N-N-No! No no no no no…! Dammit how-who did this?" Harry bellowed.

Clutching at the red mass he cried, hugging the body to his chest he felt her weakly nip his neck lovingly. The pain was unbearable. But Harry could do nothing. His duty was to stay until her last breath. The feeling of utter helplessness was sickening.

At last her head hung limply against his arm. And he screamed.

He didn't hear the thundering footsteps or the clank of the keys, so tormented by his sorrows was he. Then he was flying through the air, his friend grasped in his trembling hands. Blow after blow did nothing to stir him. It was only when he felt a tug at his rotting cargo did he react. Without hesitation he swung his head forward, hitting the offending face and momentarily getting control of his hands and friend. He stood up, only to be knocked down again. Dazed, he became limp for a moment which was enough time for the man to grasp the owl and throw it onto the bed. Blinking he vaguely saw a tall, large figure.

"I'll teach you for making such freakish noises boy!" The man promised.

Groaning, Harry tried to remember to whom that voice belonged. A metallic clank. He attempted to sit upright but was struck with cool metal, the middle caught hold of his cheek and a small cut formed. Turning onto his stomach Harry began to regain focus in his sight. Grunting he yet again tried to stand, only to scream as cool metal whipped his back over and over. He squirmed and begged the man to stop, choking back tears. The offensive object hit the floor. The boy gave a slightly panicked sigh of relief, which turned into a gasping exhale as his hair was harshly grasped and pulled back, taking him with it. He heard a rough chuckle and felt meaty hands wrap around his waist like a snake. A whimper instinctively left his lips as his hair was pulled back even more, baring his neck to the man.

"Oh I'm going to enjoy this boy. You deserve it. Oh yes yes, you deserve it."

Boy…

"U-Uncle?" Harry gasped.

A hand began to lower until it found his belt. Harry flinched and struggled but his Uncle just continued until his pants had fallen into a heap on the floor.

"W-What are you doing? Stop Uncle! Please stop!" Harry yelled.

Harry began to fight back more fiercely, thrashing his body left and right, elbowing and clawing at his Uncle, desperately trying to get free. An elbow struck his Uncle's chest, giving Harry the priceless opening he needed to stand up and swing a punch at the man. Pulling his pants up he made a dash for the door but just as he got to it his neck was caught in a vice-grip, his Uncle's grubby hand easily lifting Harry a few inches into the air. Suddenly he was thrown onto the bed and before he could get up, the man smothered him with his own body. Harry felt a thick leather cord grip his waist, glimpsing side wards he could just see his Uncle wrapping a long belt around his thin torso, binding both arms to his sides. In horror, he could only let out panicked breaths and plead as his Uncle began to remove his pants once more. His head was abruptly shoved into the covers, muffling his cries that quickly turned into screams as a stabbing pain reached his back.

"See what that spells boy? Freak. F-R-E-A-K. It looks good on you boy, another freakish scar for a freakish boy." His Uncle menacingly said.

His head was released and after a few gulps of cool air, Harry noticed an odd, glinting shape at the side of him. It was a knife. A faint slither of fresh blood covered the tip of the blade. Dried blood covered most of the blade, Harry saw. He didn't have time to ponder this however because he felt a sudden prodding against the side of his thighs. The sound of a zipper and rustling caught his attention and he settled down, focus and alert. It was only when the man grabbed at Harry's penis did he cry out in disgust and shock. A choked sob escaped him as his Uncle painfully clamped his hand tight on his genitals.

"No! No! Stop it! STOP IT!" Harry screamed, terrified.

The hand released and he felt his underwear fall to his knees. Frustrated and panicked, Harry began to cry for help.

"Somebody…please! Somebody help me!" His cries mirrored his earlier pleas for help and, like those, the cries were left unanswered.

A hoarse scream of agony and betrayal tore through his throat as his Uncle rammed his erection into Harry's anus. Again and again his anus was abused. His muscles clenched and ached as no care was given, the blistering pain had begun to dull as his body and mind became numb. Turning his head to the right, Harry saw his poor, dead friend, broken and bloodied. Her lifeless, hollow orbs gazed at Harry's terrified, bloodshot ones. Silent tears fell down his face and like before, he felt an overpowering sense of hatred forming inside him. Black and inky. Consuming. Release. His pained face managed a grimace as he felt his U-that man's seed inside him.

Enough.

That was all it took. Almost like a lock had been broken, Harry felt power surging inside him. Thinking quickly, as soon as he felt the man remove himself out of him, Harry turned and kicked the man in his genitals. As the man sank to his knees Harry then kicked his head, stomping on the grotesque face over and over until he was sure he would have a few minutes spare. Working fast, Harry grabbed the knife and slowly began to cut into the leather belt. A few times it slid and grazed his chest but he kept going, knowing the man might actually kill him. When the belt had been cut about halfway Harry pushed both of his arms outward, stretching the belt in order to tear it completely. Looking down, he saw the knife still clutched in his hands. Suddenly he looked at Hedwig, then at the dried blood. It clicked. At that moment in time, Harry can truthfully say he hated and despised the man in front of him, wanting nothing more than to kill him. Without thinking, Harry crouched at the side of the man, then lifting the blade up, he brought it down. Slowly and deeply branding onto his chest the words 'Muggle scum'. Wiping the tip of the blade on the man's shirt, Harry was surprised when a punch hit the side of his face. Though he didn't let out a single sound. Slowly he rose and was going to stun the man when he heard-

"Filthy bastard. I'll fucking kill you for taunting my family with your freakishness! You'll meet the same end as your filthy, worthless Godfather you will! You should all be slaughtered!" The man yelled viciously.

Something snapped inside of Harry. His last restraint shattered and he unleashed all of his fury and hate onto the fat man, picturing his Godfather's death, the only man who cared for him, and the mad witch, who had killed him. Bellatrix Lestrange. Coldly Harry looked at the man's oncoming figure. His Avada Kedavra eyes glared hatefully at the man who had killed his friend.

_Flashback_

"You know the spell, Harry."

"Do it!"

_End Flashback_

"Crucio"

A jet of red light came from Harry's outstretched index finger. At touching the man he fell to the floor and began to writhe and scream. A pleased grin reached Harry's face. Happiness swirled inside him until he couldn't help but laugh along with the man's screams. The sound of a shrill voice and footsteps reached Harry's ears. At the door stood his Aunt Petunia and their spawn Dudley. Their wide eyes gazed around until they caught sight of Vernon. Instantly Harry released the curse and systematically pointed to the woman.

"Avada Kedavra"

The woman's warm body hit the floor, making the large boy scream.

"W-WHAT DID YOU DO? N-NO! DON'T HURT ME F-FREAK!" The pig pleaded.

At hearing the word 'freak' Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I've always hated you, Dudley. Now, go join your dear, sweet mother." Harry hissed.

Another jet of green light and a thud. He knew he didn't have much time. Crouching next to the unconscious man Harry muttered-

"Enervate"

The instant Vernon's eyes opened Harry plunged the knife deep into his arm. Next his leg, then his genitals, until Vernon was growing pale with blood loss. Even after he had died, Harry continued to stab his body, mutilating it like he had done to Hedwig. Tears mixed with blood as the red liquid sprayed his face, covering his glasses partly. Finally he plunged the knife into Vernon's head and gathered Hedwig in his arms. Shifting to the corner he cuddled his white treasure and drew his knees up.

"I'm sorry." He whispered brokenly.

A solemn silence was his last answer until a "Crack!" nearby followed by a couple more alerted him of the many Aurors presences'.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He continued.

It was this scene that the Aurors found upon entering the Dursley's residence. The scene of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived after he mercilessly killed his last three family members.

_-HP-_

_22__nd__ July_

_The Daily Prophet_

_Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived – MISSING?_

_Exclusive – Late last night, at around 7pm, the Ministry was alerted to a number of unforgivable curses being used at a house in Little Whinging, Surrey. The house, number 4 Privet Drive, to our knowledge, was where the young Harry Potter was residing over the summer break with his three remaining muggle relatives. On arriving at the house, the Aurors found large amounts of blood in a bedroom believed to be Harry Potters', it is not yet clear whether the blood belongs to our dear Chosen One or not but both Harry Potter and his beloved owl were not found at the house and remain missing. The Ministry are urging anyone with information to come forth._

_Where is Harry Potter? Is this the work of You-Know-Who?_

_Written by Rita Skeeter_

Abruptly the article was discarded as rough, black hands folded the newspaper and solemnly placed it upon the well-polished desk of Cornelius Fudge. Kingsley Shacklebolt turned at the sound of the door opening in time to see an averagely sized, grey haired man step into the office. He looked flustered and as he closed the door the sound of many rushed voices and flashing cameras entered the room, only to be drowned out a heartbeat later. At last the man breathed a sigh and strided across the room to his desk. As he sat, the Minister for Magic took a moment to quickly glance at everyone around the room.

Including himself, four others stood silently around the room in anticipation.

"As you know, the situation in which we find ourselves is very difficult. The public are panicked at the disappearance of the boy. Now I-" The Minister said gravely.

"Hold on a minute Minister, Albus has the boy, we all know that. Why isn't he being released yet? You saw what the muggles had done-" Kingsley interrupted.

"The muggles are dead Kingsley! The boy was the only one there that night! And if that wasn't enough, there were magic traces found from his own wand! Unforgivables for Merlin's sake!" Fudge exclaimed angrily. "The public would begin to riot if they found out. No, for now the boy must be kept away from watchful eyes."

"The Minister is right, it's for the best. After all, even the _Chosen One_ must be given a trial. This act cannot go unpunished. Why, if we release the boy now he could escape! Who knows who he is really working for! I certainly wouldn't rule You-Know-Who out of this." In that instant, the atmosphere turned sour at the high, shrill voice of Dolores Umbridge, a woman who needed no introduction for the shockingly pink ensemble she wore and her toad-like face left a lasting impression by themselves.

"Minister, a trial? Do you not think we should wait and properly hear Harry's side of the story? After all he was brutally beaten and his owl was killed. He could have been protecting himself." Kingsley proposed.

"The use of an unforgivable is not self-defence but an attack. There are many self-defence spells familiar to Potter." snarled a rather average looking man with short, grey hair by the name of Dawlish.

The Minister, who up until this moment had been observing the debate with some interest suddenly turned towards a nervous looking man with short, ginger hair.

"Weasley, I want you to make sure no one gets word of Potter's whereabouts. The only people to know are those in this room and Dumbledore. I have decided to delay the trial no longer; the boy will answer for his crimes once and for all. This time there will be no one to worm him out of it, not even Albus Dumbledore can get him cleared this time. I want you to be present at the trial in a few days' time. Every outburst, every lie, every plea I want written down."

And with that, all other conversations ceased. Umbridge looked positively delighted, Dawlish looked as emotionless as ever save for a strange glint in his eyes, and Kingsley, with one last sigh hung his head mutely in defeat.

"Alright. I think that's all for this meeting. And remember, not a word to anyone." Fudge leaned back in his chair and calmly regarded the retreating party. With the door finally closed, the Minister gathered a piece of parchment and ink.

"At last we have you, Potter."

_-HP-_

Silence greeted him first. Sweet, sweet silence.

_Crack_

Then warmth. In reaction to the warmth surrounding him, he pressed closer to it. The first few seconds struck him as being beautifully simple.

_Crack_

On moving, he registered an uncomfortable stiffness in his ribs. His whole body felt suddenly very heavy.

The silence seemed to suffocate him. Harsh light greeted his drowsy eyes and he wished he'd never woken up. Looking down he realised the mass of red, blue and green was his skin, his arms. A startled cry left his bruised throat. His hands moved to his neck, the skin was quite sore when he touched it.

_Crack_

All lethargy gone, he bolted upright in bed. However, he immediately stopped as a startling surge of dizziness hit him. Quickly he placed his slightly shaking hand over his mouth, wary of the bile restlessly turning inside his stomach. A thankful sigh left his throat but was overshadowed by his groan of discomfort. He lay back down.

_Crack_

What had happened?

_Shatter_

A despairing wail ushered out of his mouth as memory after memory came flooding back in harsh clarity. His breathing sounded too loud and his chest was rising far too high. Briefly he noticed he was crying. A few moments later movement erupted on his right. His vision had distorted so he could only make out various blurred figures through his watery orbs. It occurred to him that someone was touching his right arm that was grasping his own shirt over his heart. They were shaking him. His other hand shakily clenched his black, damp hair as he curled in on himself in order to block out the distressed figures' voice. Numbly he registered that he was hyperventilating.

"Potter! Are you alright? Snap out of it!"

There was a gathering darkness around the edges of his vision now and he found he could only catch snippets of what the man was saying.

"…calming drought…hurry…"

Feeling slightly giddy Harry thought _It's too late for that_ before feeling one side of his mouth lift into a slanted smirk as he was swallowed by blissful darkness.

It was dark when he next woke. Groggily Harry slowly sat upright, glad the dizziness hadn't welcomed him. He was met with a feeling of panic as his vision remained blurry until he remembered the lack of pressure on his ears and nose. After finding his glasses on the left beside table he placed them on and began to look around the room until a single voice, the one he had craved to arrive in his time of need spoke aloud to his right.

"You gave us quite a fright there, my boy."

Eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, Harry spun to face the old, twinkling, esteemed Headmaster. Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry cried in relief and joy. The happiness didn't last as reality once again caught up with him. He bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"He-Hedwig…sir she's d-dead. And I-I…I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING!" Strengthened with guilt, anger and sadness Harry threw the dark sheets off his shaking form and rose to stand on the left side of the bed, glaring across at the ever silent headmaster.

"Sh-She trusted me to protect her and I…I thought I was stronger than this. First it was my parents…the strangers I never knew who died for me. FOR ME! Then it was C-Cedric, who shouldn't have even been there. WHO PAID THE PRICE BECAUSE OF ME! And HE killed him, just because he was with me. Because of me a person died that night! His father – Oh his father. I took his son away from him and what did he do? HE THANKED ME! T-THANKED ME FOR BRINGING BACK HIS BODY…When it should have been my body he brought back…mine not his. They should hate me.

"At last I thought that was it. No one would die for me again. I-I'm just a boy! Why would they waste their lives for someone like me? But it didn't end. It never ends does it sir? The world will continue to make me suffer…do I deserve it? I-I'm beginning to think I must do. And…and Sirius…my only family…"

Throughout his outburst Harry felt his body begin to sag. His legs started to shake under the pressure until they buckled, leaving him kneeling on the floor with his furiously trembling hands clutching the bed sheets. His heart felt too big, wounded beyond repair. Why hadn't it given up yet? The world was too cruel for his fragile heart…and it continued to show no mercy.

"Now my beautiful owl, my friend…has gone too."

His nerves were shattered, he realised, as he felt tears leak out of his eyes. He grasped his thundering chest with his right hand and stared into the old man's concerned eyes. Though there was too much emotion in those orbs, endless amounts of it. Harry felt like he was drowning in them, so he turned his gaze onto the bed. Looking but not really seeing, he continued.

"I-I've had enough now, Professor. I can't take any more of this pain. Please, no one else must die for me. S-Stop this…endless cycle. Tell me what to do to end this please, sir." Harry despairingly cried.

Until this time, Dumbledore had been silent, carefully assessing his broken boy. Moving slowly so as not to startle the shaken Chosen One, Dumbledore stood up and made his way around the bed to crouch next to the boy. He then placed his right arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Harry I know how you are feeling."

Despair tainted the boy's next words.

"Please don't…not again. You don't know anything – I don't want to talk about this Dumbledore." Harry weakly said.

Harry tried to free himself from the headmaster's grip but found he couldn't. Though he didn't know whether that was because he was shaken or Dumbledore was surprisingly strong. Dumbledore, undeterred by Harry's struggles, continued.

"Listen to me Harry. Please."

Resignedly Harry turned his head slightly to the left to face Dumbledore.

"The despair and sadness you feel shows how strong you really are. You accept these feelings and continue to protect the ones you love, even at the cost of your own life. You never give up Harry. Don't you see? Your strength is heightened by the very feelings you loathe! You must embrace these feelings, Harry. By doing so you can protect your friends."

Harry felt his mouth tremble as fresh tears leaked out of his eyes.

"But that's just it isn't it Professor. I haven't saved anyone at all. These – these feelings are useless! I've only succeeded in making others pay the price for my existence! Why can't you understand? I have had enough. I want out! Without me, no one would have to suffer like this!"

Shaking his head Dumbledore observed the boy.

"Harry my boy; you must stop blaming yourself for all this. It was Voldemort who murdered your parents, not you. It was Voldemort who planned the Death Eater attack at the Ministry and it was on Voldemort's orders that Bellatrix killed Sirius! Voldemort is the man behind everything Harry, he killed your owl. Remember that, Harry. Remember the pain he has caused you and your friends. He must be stopped by your hand, Harry. This pain you feel was caused by him. And it will not stop until he is gone. You understand?" Dumbledore encouraged.

Breathing slowly, Harry calmly looked at his headmaster. He was right. Voldemort slaughtered all his loved ones, it was him. He'd known that, but somewhere along the way he had begun to blame himself for everyone's deaths. The shadow of sadness gleamed in his eyes.

"I-I understand, sir. But my U-" The word caught in his throat. He found it strange that this man's name was the one he feared over the Dark Lords'. "That man and-"

Frustration hit Harry so suddenly. Why was he behaving so weak? Then it struck him. An unwelcome feeling of intense hatred. He hated the fact that he had been bested by a…muggle. Even in death that man had won. As he was forced to live on with this hatred on his shoulders. He felt so ashamed and disgraced that his throat wouldn't function properly, making speech impossible.

"Your Uncle is unfortunately dead, Harry"

Horror hit Harry in a flash of clarity. His mind, whilst trying to protect its frail host, had attempted to forget the events of that night but to no avail.

So shocked was he that he didn't notice Dumbledore stand, bringing him up as well, until he was placed on the end of the bed. The old man remained standing, overlooking his distraught student.

"Oh – Oh no. P-Professor…I - Oh God I killed him! I-I used that-. I-I…how could I do such a thing?" Harry stuttered, placing his hands on either side of his head to clutch at his hair in desperation.

"Oh my boy. I am so sorry you were subjected to such vicious treatment. If I'd had any idea, I would have taken you out of that house myself."

A brief flash of hesitation flickered across the boy's face before returning to the distressed face of a troubled child.

"W-What will happen to me? Oh why that curse? Why why why! I-I will be sentenced to Azkaban like a D-Dea-" Harry whispered quietly, unaware of his surroundings anymore, like he had fallen into an inky black vacuum and was suffocating in his own panic.

"You must understand that this is a very serious matter Harry. In normal circumstances you would be sentenced to death or at least life in Azkaban. However, you were acting in self-defence. The shock of the situation may have caused you to act more viciously than you would have done normally. But the Minister cannot risk a public uproar; he must maintain his influence in these dire times. The public has been left out of this matter for now until the trial is held for your actions, just or not"

"Will I be…sentenced to death?" Harry bit his lip in anticipation.

"I will stay by your side and protect you Harry. Do not fear my boy." Dumbledore smiled.

And with that, a little spark of hope lit in Harry's dulled eyes.

"T-Thank you sir, so much."

"Now you must rest Harry. You have been through a lot. Your mind as well as your body needs to recover for the upcoming trial. Take care my boy."

As Dumbledore left the room, Harry began to feel the truth of his words. Glancing down, he noticed a faint tremble in his hands. Not trusting his body enough to stand alone, he slid under the covers of the bed and drifted into a tormented sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

I forgot to put a disclaimer in the last chapter, so just thought I'd clear up that I don't own Harry Potter, those spellbinding and beautiful selection of books belong to J.K. Rowling. I was having trouble with the trial, the various locations and the characters therefore I had to look through some of the books to help me, so there are probably some similarities.

* * *

><p>It was a very late night and the sky was eerily clear, highlighting a beautifully full, bright moon. A house sat silently behind a pair of bold iron gates. Its walls glinted tantalizingly due to the lights from within the lower-level windows. In a partially silent drawing room sat a dozen darkly dressed figures. At the head of the table sat a very calm, motionless and as equally formidable man. His porcelain skin stretched tightly over his cheekbones, making him appear skeletal. The pale, bony form of the wicked man further created a sense of danger due to his astonishingly red eyes that offered a stark contrast. So terrifying was this man that he appeared more of a creature, a snake, than a man. As if his humanity had gradually peeled away like the shedding of a snake's skin, leaving his ugly, true being behind with no beautiful scales to hide him.<p>

"So? Any news regarding the boy, Severus?" He hissed.

A thin, pale man to Voldemort's right lifted his calm eyes to meet the intense, deep gaze of Voldemort's vicious red orbs.

"My Lord, there has been no news of Harry Potter's whereabouts since the 21st of July, when the Aurors found his muggle relatives murdered in their home. The Daily Prophet has been very reserved about the entire matter. They did mention that a number of Unforgivables had been traced at the house."

At that, Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a thoughtful frown.

"Tsk, tsk. Can the Order no longer keep control of their _Chosen One_?" A few hesitant chuckles filled the room.

"Silence." And like a flash of lightning all noise stopped and complete silence filled the cold room.

"If the boy's whereabouts are not known by the Order then it is very likely that he has gone alone. If that is the case then I wish to get him before that old fool can sink his claws into him. I shall not miss this chance. However, the use of Unforgivables surprises me. I never imagined the boy could be so promising."

"My Lord."

Yaxley, an averagely sized man leaned forward eagerly.

"What if Potter didn't fire those curses? He may have been taken, My Lord."

Voldemort briefly glanced at Yaxley before turning his attention to the rest of the table.

"No doubt anyone casting an Unforgivable in Potters' home is loyal to me and not to the foolish old man. Are you suggesting a servant of mine would disobey their master and not inform him of the location of Harry Potter, Yaxley?"

Said Death Eater paled and lowered his head.

"N-No of course not, My Lord." He stammered.

"Good. Have you noticed anything suspicious from within the Order, Severus?"

"Though Dumbledore has been absent from meetings for a week now, My Lord, the strangest issue is that he has relocated the Order's meeting place. This too was a week ago. No explanation has been given as to why, My Lord."

"It seems the old coot is hiding something after all. You will find out what Severus. That meddlesome fool can't keep the boy from me for much longer." Voldemort's mouth twisted into a malicious smirk.

_-HP-_

31st July

It was with slight trepidation that Harry met the thousand guarded, coal faces of the sleek and shiny Ministry walls. Eyeing his surroundings like a feral animal, Harry took note of the distinct lack of figures perching on their tall, shadowed benches. However hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to rid that chair from his mind, and every few seconds his gaze seemed to be drawn back to it, in all its dark solidity. It was frightening. The sturdy simplicity of it, sleek and immovable, waiting to sink its iron claws into your fearful arms. Sitting in that chair was like accepting your fate, accepting that you are a danger to the people and must be kept chained when necessary, like an animal.

A thin, bony hand grasped his shoulder, startling him into turning around.

"Now remember Harry my boy, all you have to do is sit quietly and speak only when spoken to, you understand? I will be defending you until the end, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Y-Yes sir, I understand. But where is everyone? Are we late Professor?" Harry inquired nervously.

Dumbledore chuckled.

"Nonsense my dear boy, we are merely early. It makes a nice change than last time, wouldn't you say Harry?"

"I certainly hope this is the last time we must gather for a hearing because of Mr Harry Potter." Between the last three words the figure paused very briefly, enunciating each word fully, almost mockingly.

The heavy door swung closed, the vibrations in the wall echoing around the nearly empty dungeon. There, stood in plain black robes was none other than Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic and Lead Interrogator in the quite singular trial of Harry James Potter. Behind him was a short, stout woman in bright pink with a stretched smile fastened tightly to her toad-like face, a tall, black, solemn man dressed in blue robes and lastly a jittery, nervous man with bright red hair who, at the sight of Dumbledore and Harry futilely attempted to regain his stonily composure.

"Well then Dumbledore, you know how grave a matter this is. We've not the luxury of time. Potter, take your seat."

Numbly, Harry edged closer to the chair, his footsteps echoing inside the enclosed area. Once seated he glanced around, noticing that Fudge and Umbridge had taken their positions in a higher row opposite to them. He hated how they seemed to look down on him from their towering row. Nearly halving his size by sitting down only made the height difference even more unnerving. Strangely enough, Harry wondered if this was what lab rats felt like. Powerless and helpless against these tall, beady eyed monsters with their branch-like fingers. They hardly looked human at all; instead they resembled statues – cold and hard. In the far corner of his eyes he spotted movement at both his sides, turning he saw to his surprise Kingsley Shacklebolt standing directly to his left. Unease fluttered in his stomach when the Auror didn't meet his wary, curious gaze. On his right stood an unfamiliar, short man of average build with short, grey hair. The man, much like Shacklebolt, would not look at him. _I don't remember having Aurors present at the last hearing. Why are they standing by my side? Surely I'm no danger to anyone. _Before Harry could catch a glimpse of Dumbledore the Minister's rough voice made an announcement.

"Very well. Now we are all present we can begin. Are you ready?"

Shocked Harry glanced at the many empty rows of the room. _Where are all the Wizengamot members? _He had thought the few people present were going to wait for the others to arrive, though they were carrying on without them! _Was this so the Wizarding community wouldn't begin to riot? Like Dumbledore said?_ It seemed to be a silly precaution to Harry.

The quirky red head by the name Percy Weasley answered "Yes, sir". Holding his quill tightly he paused, waiting eagerly like a dog before a stick is thrown.

"Alright. Disciplinary hearing of the thirty-first of July into offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, the International Statute of Secrecy and most seriously, the prohibited use of Unforgivables by Harry James Potter, last remaining resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

Amongst the silence, Percy's quill scribbled furiously.

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. And Lastly, Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

"Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." Moving his head, Harry saw Dumbledore standing calmly a few feet behind him to his right. Taking a deep breath, Harry placed all of his hopes onto Dumbledore's aged shoulders.

Almost uncaringly, Fudge, throughout Dumbledore's statement, located a piece of parchment and once Dumbledore had finished spoke.

"The charges against the accused are as follows. He knowingly and deliberately branded is Uncle with the words 'muggle scum' on his chest, then he proceeded to cast his first Unforgivable, the Cruciatus curse, on his muggle Uncle on the 21st of July at 7pm. The illegal actions continued as he, at the sight of his Aunt and cousin, cast his second Unforgivable, the Avada Kedavra curse on his unfortunate victims. Lastly he then went on to kill his final victim, his Uncle, with a knife, stabbing him over 10 times! The offences not only break the two decrees stated but the use of Unforgivables has been connected to Death Eater movements for over 50 years! You are Harry James Potter of number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey are you not?" Fudge declared.

"Y-Yes I am but you see-" Harry shakingly said.

"An official warning was given to you three years ago by the Ministry for the use of illegal magic was it not?"

"Yes-"

"And you are fully aware that casting the Unforgivables is highly prohibited and illegal?"

"He was-" Tears leaked from Harry's eyes.

"Answer the question Mister Potter!" Fudge shouted.

"HE WAS RAPING ME!" Harry cried, trembling. "My own Uncle was raping me! I couldn't do anything. I-I tried to tell him to stop but he just wouldn't. And – Oh God…Hedwig. HE KILLED HER! Using THAT knife! I wanted him to feel the pain and betrayal that I felt! Please -"

"Now, now that's quite enough of that Mister Potter."

Shocked Harry sat still, his wide eyes looking at the emotionless man.

"Dumbledore has already informed me of the relationship between you and your family. You seem to have harboured irrational feelings of hatred towards your Uncle and Aunt, and feelings of jealousy towards your cousin. In fact, it's not at all unlikely that in a moment of fury, you brutally tortured your Uncle, then once discovered -"

"No! No, it wasn't like that. Please -" Harry shouted, unable to believe Dumbledore would lie against his behalf.

"- Silence him! Then once discovered you killed your Aunt in shock and then cruelly killed the cousin you have always loathed. Then you enervated your Uncle only to stab him viciously until he bled out! Is. That. Not. So. Potter?"

Leaping out of his chair, Harry cried "Please listen to me! W-Why can't you understand? I-I was only trying to protect myself! I thought he was going to kill me!" There was so much more he had to say, he had to make them understand. But as both Aurors grabbed his arms, forcefully sat him back down and cast a quick 'Silencio' there was simply no more he could do.

"So you decided to beat him to it, eh Potter?" Fudge snarled.

The sound of cold metal startled him out of his frustrated musings. Astonished, he looked down to see the solid chains attached to the side of the chair mercilessly binding his wrists, like a criminal. Like a Death Eater.

Someone cleared their throat and Fudge instantly fell silent.

"I would hope, Minister, that you'd take into account Harry's situation on the 21st of July." Harry had felt no greater relief than when Dumbledore started to speak. "Harry, a young boy who has been targeted ever since he was one, was threatened in his own home by his own family. Naturally, Harry instinctively thought he was going to be killed. Its second nature for him to think like that now, I'm afraid. Therefore I hold that Harry, in full terror killed his remaining relatives in the influence of shock. He acted more aggressive than he would in normal circumstances. Though unfortunately that resulted in the use of Unforgivables. I ask that you put that into series consideration, Cornelius."

Fudge seemed to be thinking deeply, though every few seconds he stole a glance at Harry and his eyes appeared to narrow slightly. Then abruptly he cleared his throat and looked at Dumbledore.

"Taking into account Potter's-" he glanced at Harry "-unnaturally aggressive behaviour, minor spells such as 'Stupefy' could be ruled out. However, Dumbledore, no amount of fear or terror could excuse the use of Unforgivables. This boy has displayed behaviour that got Death Eaters kissed!"

Harry, unable to speak, could only watch on as Dumbledore and Fudge spoke about that terrifying night. The absolute despair was unbearable. He felt like he has already been sentenced. _Was it hopeless? Can Dumbledore do nothing? No! He must be able to do something. He said he'd protect me! I trust him. _

"Though I am sure their situations were very different from the one we are dealing with now, Cornelius. I am not attempting to forgive Harry for using those curses. Having met Harry's Aunt and Uncle myself I can assure you that they were very pleasant and welcoming, I'm afraid Harry must have suffered quite a traumatic shock to have created such a horrible story. Perhaps his Uncle shouted at him and that caused Harry to become scared. Then, after seeing his owl die, he wanted to release some of his anger. Unfortunately for his relatives, Harry chose to release his anger on them. I myself am quite shocked by this incident. The poor boy has been unstable ever since. I dare not leave him alone." Dumbledore confessed.

For the first few seconds it felt like he has just been placed in an airtight bubble. All other noises ceased, he could only see Dumbledore. Only him. Then came the disbelief. _W-What was Dumbledore saying?_ _Why would I make up such a story? I wouldn't! I couldn't! _Then it hit him. _They don't believe me._

"Ah! Another cock and bull story no doubt!" Fudge nodded "Very well, very well. I have made my decision. For the use of underage magic in the presence of muggles the accused is cleared."

Harry held his breath.

"And for the use of the Unforgivables and the murder of three muggles, Mister Harry James Potter is found guilty. Taking into consideration the accused's er…mental distress, I sentence Harry James Potter to life in Azkaban. You shall be escorted by Shacklebolt and Dawlish immediately."

His entire body went numb. Blindly he turned to Dumbledore. _Say something...Anything! SAY SOMETHING!_

"PLEASE SAY SOMETHING!" Harry screamed, unaware when the 'Silencio' placed on him had been removed.

At their orders, the chains released Harry, only to be replaced by another pair by Shacklebolt whilst Dawlish grasped his shoulders in a death grip. Desperately, Harry tried to run towards Dumbledore, seeing it as the only way to get the Headmaster to look at him. However both trained Aurors seemed to have been expecting it, and calmly grabbed his arms tightly so Harry was in between them both. They began marching towards the door, Harry not strong enough to falter even one of their many strides.

"DUMBLEDORE! STOP THEM! H-HELP ME! YOU SAID YOU'D PROTECT ME! PLEASE!" Harry's back was now facing Dumbledore as they passed by him. The old man's face remained expressionless.

"DAMN YOU! I TRUSTED YOU! WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME? WHAT WAS I TO YOU? I WOULD HAVE DIED FOR YOU! BUT YOU – YOU BETRAYED ME!" Turning his neck, Harry shouted at Dumbledore's back.

"I WON'T FORGET THIS DUMBLEDORE! I WO-"

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the distraught teen's words, though incoherent screams could still be heard all down the hall. After some time, and once the shouts had disappeared, an old man with a long, grey beard headed towards the door with an odd twinkle in his eyes. Walking briskly in his bright purple robes he left the dungeon with not one falter in his step.

_-HP-_

It was the most terrifying experience, being led down that silent corridor, with not one person in sight, for he knew where they were taking him. All he could think of was _the dementors. The dementors. The dementors. _Thinking of the endless darkness oozing from their cold, cloaked forms made Harry shiver in fright. The last time he had faced them, he had had a wand, he had been able to protect himself. In that horrible place, where his Godfather had spent many, many years, he would be caged like an animal, wandless and unable to escape them. _Oh God, this has to be some mistake! _The truth was that he didn't want to ever see them again. The dementors brought back too many memories, and a small part of him feared if Sirius was going to now be included in the inevitable stream of haunting memories. _I-I'm not sure I can handle being so close to them for so long…sooner or later…_ Tears welled up in his eyes_…I'll crack. _Soon enough, the three of them entered a side room, two willingly, the other not so. Glancing around half-heartedly, Harry realised he didn't recognize the room. However, the discovery hardly startled him as most of his attention was on his own inner thoughts than anything in the real world. Like a doll the Aurors guided him around furniture, though not caringly like a parent or friend would, instead they dragged him, making him bounce off their iron arms. Harry's mind, unaware of his own body, furiously tried to regain some control. _Mistake…must be a mistake! No! I can't go to that place! I don't belong there! _His thoughts shouted whilst his own voice remained silent. Briefly his surroundings seemed to seep into his brain, though there seemed to be something off…something missing. People! _Where were all the people? _He remembered the last time he had come here, there were lots and lots of people bustling about. After being led down the long corridor and through several doors he couldn't remember seeing anyone. _What was going on? Come to think of it, I don't even remember coming through here!_

"W-Where are we?" He croaked, needing to clear his throat after his desperate screams at the trial.

Unwanted silence met his ears.

"Why won't you tell me? Please I just want to know where we are!" Harry said, hoping they were still near the dungeon, where the trial took place, and therefore further from Azkaban.

Glancing down briefly, Kingsley frowned.

"We are in the lower rooms of the Ministry. Not many people go down here, only Aurors and criminals going to Azkaban."

The word 'Azkaban' made his hair stand on end. He didn't even want to think about such a wretched place. Just thinking about it made his throat tighten, tears threatening to fall_…Is that what I am now? A criminal? _Hanging his head, he bit his lip, refusing to voice his frustrations. The Ministry wanted to keep his trial hushed up, allowing only a few members to actually witness it. Now, going through these empty corridors, Harry knew without a doubt that they had succeeded. No one knew he was down here. _No one I trust anyway…_Not many things were worse than being frightened and unable to trust anyone. He felt so alone in this world full of people. _Was this it? After everything I have faced…is this really how things are going to end for me? C-Can no one truly help me? Is this Voldemort's doing? No, he wouldn't want me locked up somewhere he couldn't reach me…then again, this place can't be as secure as Hogwarts…Maybe he has control of all the dementors now, not only the two from last year! _Harry's inner torment remained unnoticed as the Aurors took him to another small room, though this time the only door leading outside the room was the one they had just come through. The room didn't appear to be used often as a thin layer of dust encased the only furniture in the room, two worn chairs and an old table. But the object that caught Harry's attention was the sleek, black fireplace which seemed extraordinarily out of place amongst the remaining objects. The fireplace itself seemed twice as big as the one at the Burrow and there was not a single speck of dust covering its shiny surface. There were several small scratches on the inside of the fireplace that unnerved Harry. The green glow from the flames surrounded the room, casting a greenish tint on everything. Shivering, he glanced at both Aurors, naturally they stayed silent. A distant dripping sound met his ears, like droplets of water falling from a tap. It seemed to flourish in the silence, growing louder and louder, making the room seem even colder.

Suddenly, the Aurors, meeting each other's gaze, nodded. The man named Dawlish pulled Harry closer, gripping his arm tighter whilst Kingsley turned and stood on the right side of the fireplace. It hit him in an instant, remembering his awkward first encounter in his Second year, Harry realised they were going to travel using the fireplace. Without thinking, he flinched; taking a step back, completely terrified as his destined location abruptly seemed so much closer…and so real. The reality of the situation struck him hard. He was going to Azkaban, the most fearsome prison for wizards…for criminals. For Death Eaters. Momentarily, he was a caged, wild animal, darting his gaze back and forth between the men. He shouldn't be here! He didn't belong there! These men were dangerous, were going to hurt him and he needed to escape!

A wand in front of his eyes broke Harry's struggles, breathing heavily he stood still, waiting.

"Don't make me stun you, Potter." Snarled Dawlish, digging his nails into Harry's arm.

Turning his wide eyes to Kingsley, Harry saw that he too had drawn his wand and was preparing to stop him if necessary. It shocked him that these men, whom he would not have even thought about hurting, would so freely threaten to injure him. It seemed to him that, in the influence of power and authority, these men had turned their back on everything they had once believed in. _Are they being threatened? _Certainly, a glimmer of unease settled over Kingsley's face, hinting at his disagreement with the situation but in Dawlish, there was no such hope. Instead he seemed almost robotic in his movements, like a trained dog of the Ministry.

"As we can't allow you to travel alone, Dawlish here will be going with you. Once there, we will take you to the registration desk where the guards will take custody of you. Now please behave, Mr Potter. We don't want to have to use force." Kingsley stated, though Harry wasn't sure if Dawlish was so bothered about having to restrain him.

Without warning, Dawlish began to move towards the fireplace, prodding and pushing Harry with his right arm that was holding him. Harry didn't see the point in struggling anymore. No one was coming to help him; there would be no last minute rescue. This was reality after all. Harry's gaze met the floor with resolution. _I can do this…I have to. I can't break now! Once someone finds out what has happened, they will get me out._ Only once he could clearly see the green hue reflecting on the floor did he lift his head. The fire was awful, it reminded him terribly of the veil in the Department of Mysteries, where Sirius-. Once through, you cannot come back. That's how he felt; there was no going back after this. Would he ever get out of that place? _I don't know…I just don't know. _They were turning to face the room, with their backs to the fireplace. Breathing heavily, Harry glanced at Kingsley, his wide gaze desperately trying to appear brave. It seemed like this moment represented his entire life up to now, always looking to someone whilst trying to keep his flood of emotions in. The hint of sadness in the Auror's eyes angered him, so he turned his gaze to the wall across from him.

"Alright, come on Potter." Dawlish said.

At his words Harry, who was currently glaring at the wall, closed his eyes and shut out the world as he knew it. He pretended this day never happened and that Sirius had never gone to the Ministry that day. He was laughing along with him in their home, number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was much brighter now and the old portrait of Sirius' ancestor had long since been relocated to the attic, thankfully. A tug at his navel shattered the wishful thoughts, bringing Harry back to the present. _I'm really going to Azkaban…_A shaky, gasping laugh escaped him, unable to believe what was happening to him. The cold grip of the Auror remained through the dizzying spinning until at last he felt his shaky feet meet solid ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Firstly, I apologise for the long awaited update! I have had a lot of things to figure out as this story was intentionally only meant to be a few chapters long, though I see it developing before my eyes into well, something longer than 3-4 chapters. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this really, I am planning it as I go along. I have an ending in mind vaguely, but that could easily change. Anyway I hope this chapter makes up for the wait, it's the longest chapter yet! Lastly, I would just like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. I realised that since it was a Harry Potter story that there may be more reviews compared to my other stories, and I'm certainly glad there is! Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not; unfortunately own the Harry Potter series.

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><p>I was breathing far too heavily by the time I was able to glance at the horribly tall, overlooking figure of Azkaban. Its black looming structure seemed to know all, see all. There was nowhere you could hide from it. Oh so tall. <em>How many criminals are in there? There must be thousands! <em>Wide-eyed, Harry looked at the small island he had been brought to. It really was ingenious. Only Ministry officials could travel here, the only ways to escape would be to swim, which surely would lead you to drown, or have people break you out from the outside. Both scenarios were ridiculously flawed. At the reappearance of Kingsley, the Auror Dawlish began to move Harry forward to the threateningly tall, metal double doors outlined by a torch on either side. A flicker of movement caught his eye from above. Shrouded in cloaks weaved out of the finest darkness a dozen or so dementors swirled overhead. Their bottomless hoods following his every move. His heart froze. _Oh no…A-Are they going to attack me? T-They're coming! _Harry's frightful thoughts stopped as one of the dementors suddenly lunged towards him; it's cold, dead claws reaching for him. Then, as if sensing the potential danger of the two Aurors, stopped, it's twisted claws a few feet from Harry's head. The Aurors hadn't even flinched. _D-Do they usually do that? _Harry, too shaken to speak, wondered. Though from the tightened grip of Kingsley's hand, Harry knew otherwise. Once at the doors they were bathed in the yellowish glow of the torches, making Harry feel more at ease. _Maybe they won't come too close to the light_. As they opened, creaking loudly, Harry chanced a look backwards. The sea around the island was thrashing uncontrollably against it and the sky was dyed a navy blue, a few stars twinkled visibly. The moon was covered partly by a few grey, wispy clouds. On any other night, the scene would have been quite beautiful. But he couldn't quite take his eyes off the many dementors a metre from him. Their invisible eyes breaking his very soul and their frozen-looking hands calling to him as he crossed the threshold of the door. The resonating sound of the doors slamming shut strangely calmed his nerves. It was a frightening thing really, to be glad once the doors around your soon-to-be-prison close around you and a feeling of relief hits you, as you feel safe from the death-like shadows prowling the wild surroundings. Shuddering, Harry could feel their icy breath on the back of his neck.

Inside the main hall of Azkaban many polished bronze lights hung from the pleasant, grey stone ceiling. The room was surprisingly bright, contrary to Harry's first beliefs of a dark and dismal one. _It isn't anything like I thought it would be. _A pair of identical doors stood opposite to him, the only other ones leading out of this place. To the right of him in the middle of the hall was a sleek, shiny, dark wooden desk and on it lay a small pile of parchment, a flower vase and a quill. Sat at the desk was a stern old woman. Her thin, greying hair was tightly held in a bun and she wore a dull, grey blouse and a knee-long skirt. Their entering hadn't even got her attention as she continually signed and sorted important documents. Harry's footsteps echoed on the flat, smooth stone. Glancing around further, Harry saw a long bench, rather like a church pew, resting against the wall to his left, directly across from the desk. It was very quiet here. It reminded him of when he lived with the muggles, before he met Hagrid on that fateful day. At night, he used to curl up on his bed under the creaking stairs and try to remember his parents. What they looked like, whether they loved him, anything to make him feel less lonely, like he knew someone. And it was awfully lonely, particularly at night, with only his few toys and spiders to keep him company. He never wanted attention, he never craved it. He despised it. After being ignored for so long, having someone speak to him and look at him made Harry feel anxious. He never realised how much it had affected him, living under those stairs for most of his childhood, until now. Now, he craved the endless darkness in which he used to be safe. It was too bright in here; everything was too clear, too harsh. If the world would just dim a little, it would be a much more liveable place. He wanted to curl up under his covers in his cupboard and hide forever, or at least until people had forgotten his name, who he was. This severe situation in which he was thrown into was caused by his name! He felt sure that if he had not been the great Harry Potter then he wouldn't be here today.

_If only I was someone else _Harry thought sadly. Surprisingly he had managed to bury all these feelings for quite some time, never realising as he grew accustomed to them, adapting to them. Kingsley and Dawlish hadn't uttered a word since they were in the Ministry and this increasingly long silence only heightened Harry's unease as they continued to walk to the desk. He couldn't feel his arms anymore, so long had they been tightly gripped. Harry's weak legs stopped in front of the desk. Resolutely he lowered his head, intent on staring into the wood when something pale entered his vision on his left. Turning he found the simple glass vase carrying wilting, white flowers that didn't seem to fit in with the rather gloomy, strong surroundings. So polished and clean was the vase that Harry could catch a glimpse at his distorted head by looking at it. The boy in the reflection looked so very pale and worn that it was hard to compare to the usually happy, smiling Harry who seemed so far away now. Thinking back, Harry remembered that he hadn't been able to look in a mirror lately as he had been so weak and troubled. But here, it was like years had gone by without the presence of his reflection. The bags under his eyes were intensified by the milky-white skin and his hair was flat and greasy. Harry was scared. After a few days this was what he had become…wondering what effects years spent here would have on him was too much to bear! So loud were his thoughts that he forgot to hear the ever-growing silence in the hall.

"Name?" A cold, bored woman's voice consumed the room.

Startled, Harry turned his head from the flowers to the tight-lipped old woman. Seeing her gaze meeting his, Harry gave a brief start before clearing his throat.

"H-Harry Potter"

At that, she retrieved a piece of paper and paused.

"Full name?"

"Harry James Potter."

She began to write.

"When was he sentenced?"

"The 31st of July." Kingsley stated, apparently as equally fond of the woman as she was fond of him.

"Charged against?"

"…The murder of three muggles and the use of two Unforgivables."

"Sentence?"

"…A life sentence."

There it was again. That hole in reality, where everything becomes distorted and imaginary. Noises become muffled, everything becomes numb. There was no pause in the writing of Harry's surely last chapter of his life story. This was the last thing everyone would remember him for, murdering his muggle relatives and using Death Eater curses – the Unforgivables. There would be no 'self-defence' added, only cold-blooded murder. She didn't even look at him. A shocked or frightened glance was much easier to handle than plain disregard. _Is she disgusted? Frightened? Angry?_ Once finished, she placed the piece of parchment in front of Harry.

"Sign here, please." Though her words were kind her voice itself was very emotionless, like she had said the same thing over and over again.

Unsure, Harry glanced at Kingsley.

"Signing it gives proof that you have been sent here and will remain here until-" He paused, coughing to cover up his embarrassment. Without a doubt Harry knew what the Auror was going to say. Unfortunately, that was never going to come true for Harry. He was never going to be released. Taking what seemed like his last breath, for who knew what was going to happen to him, he grasped the quill out of its holder and signed the form. As soon as he had signed the 'r' on 'Potter' the ink on the page momentarily disappeared, only to reappear on the inside of Harry's right wrist in the form of strange symbols and numbers in black typewriter script, much like the ones found on his late Godfather's 'Wanted' poster. Shocked, Harry grabbed his wrist to inspect it but the writing was already beginning to fade, in astonishment Harry watched the ink until it had completely faded into his skin. Looking back at the form, he saw the writing had returned to sit innocently back on the page, just as it were.

"Have you got his wand?" The woman asked.

"Ah yes, here." Kingsley retrieved Harry's beautiful wand out of his pocket and placed it in front of her. She then lifted it up and turned to Harry.

"Core? Size?"

"Ah! Er…holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches." Harry stammered.

Suddenly a thin piece of card appeared and encircled his wand. On it read:

_Harry James Potter_

_Holly and phoenix feather_

_Eleven inches_

Then, with another flick of the woman's wand, Harry's vanished. Discomfort fluttered inside his stomach. He hadn't had his wand on his person, but he still felt relatively safe with it close by. He was vulnerable at the hands of others once more. He felt like everyone was trying to hurt him. _Anything – Anything else to think about…_

"Erm…excuse me but…the form…there were letters and symbols on my wrist…" Harry rambled.

"Yes. That is the new safety precaution the Ministry has ordered we install after the escape of Sirius Black. Should you ever escape-" A snort "…the Ministry will be able to track your every move and can alert us immediately."

Though Harry hadn't for an instant though of escaping, (he doubted he could) this unfortunate safety precaution sunk his heart a little, making the situation seem even more helpless. _Will I ever get out of here?_ The uncertainty bothered him more than anything. A straight answer 'No' would satisfy him, at least then he'd know not to bother hoping for an unseen miracle. From where he stood, he wasn't sure whether to laugh madly or cry quietly in a corner. Both ended in insanity.

"Very well. They will be here shortly to collect you and take you to your cell, Mr Potter. Until then-" She said.

"W-Wait, sorry, 'they'? Who are t-" Harry paused mid-breath. Like an animal watching out for dangerous predators in deathly silence.

The room, whilst being not necessarily warm, suddenly became cold. Widening his glistening green orbs, Harry watched the far door leading into the further bowels of Azkaban. Fear's hand clutched his heart, freezing it as the door knob began to turn tantalizingly slow. It had opened a few inches when, to Harry's horror, a pair of bony, skeletal fingers wrapped around the door. The fingers were extraordinarily long, like branches and the nails ended at a point. Harry's cheeks felt cold, his hands numb, his breath chilled. The room had maintained its warm appearance; no tell-tale signs of their presence could be seen. They only affected the four of them, standing silently as the door opened still. However, as everyone else seemed to be able to keep their unease reigned; Harry's was dragging him forward into a deeper array of emotions. _Oh no no no no no! No! Oh God…Oh God what do I do?...W-What CAN I do? _The shaking had returned, his body showing clearly how shattered his nerves were already. So much so that he hadn't even been able to open his mouth to scream. He felt dead, like a vegetable. Unable to control past his thoughts. In that instant, his body was not his own. It's bone-chilling cloaked head peered around the corner and he could almost imagine a sinister grin lurking underneath the shadows. His vision began to blur around the edges, causing him to lean heavily against Kingsley.

"Ma'am, the boy – he seems to be affected by the dementors more than most people." The black Auror said. "Would it not be possible for us to escort him instead?"

"The boy, as you put it, is a criminal. He doesn't need to be sheltered anymore. This place is filled with dementors, do you intend for us to prevent them from coming anywhere near him? What nonsense! He'll be staying for quite some time, Auror. Don't you worry, he'll get used to them eventually. After all, what are a few dementors to the Boy-Who-Lived?" She said slyly.

Kingsley looked torn but knew he was in no position to order anyone here.

Harry was shaking viciously now, his dear mother's screams rebounded inside his mind but he couldn't voice his own.

"_Harry!"_

His eyes remained fixed on the dementor, and his vocal chords finally responded with a whimper as another appeared behind the first. They crept slowly, eagerly. _T-They're going to eat me! _Harry thought madly. Abruptly he decided he could take no more and lurched backwards violently, twice, three, four times. Each jolt strangely weaker than the last, until the frightening duo was but an arm's length away. The tears rolling down his cheeks did not freeze. His glasses remained clear.

"_Harry!"_

One dementor impatiently reached out to him, moving faster than he expected. Before he could blink it had his left arm in an agonizingly tight, cold grip. The fingers were so cold, so rotten that they burned his skin at contact. Numbly Harry registered the dull, fiery burn. His main focus was on Dawlish, who had released his grip to trade with the dementors. Harry's eyes pleaded _don't leave me! Please! _Swivelling his head, Harry gazed into Kingsley's face. Finally, his decision made, the Auror dropped Harry's arm. Like slow-motion it fell to his side. Quickly reaching out, Harry grabbed Kingsley's arm.

"N-No! No no no! Please, d-don't! Don't leave me here with them!" Harry cried at last.

"_Harry!"_

Almost like a mother would observe a child, Kingsley's saddened eyes met Harry's one last time before the second dementor claimed his arm holding the Auror, tearing him away from the last thread of hope left inside him. The dementors turned him towards the door whilst both Aurors headed to the opposite one.

"NO! OH GOD NO! NO! PLEASE HELP ME! P-please…" His shouts turned to whispers as his mind, terrified, urged him to run and hide. The dementors were clutching him like a life-line, like a child would hold a favourite toy. Their hooded features remained on his frozen ones, only looking forwards to open the large double doors. Harry's shadow began to grow behind him, turning jagged and distorted. Menacing. The doors shut with a final, resolute 'SLAM!'. The remaining candle in a room full of darkness blew out, offering no sanctuary or peace of mind. He struggled and struggled but they did not stop. A human body cannot handle being in close proximity with these creatures of death, soon it starts to shut down on itself; its movements turn sloppy, sluggish and slow. He was being sedated by their very presence. _W-What are they doing? _They were calming him, though in no way did that soothe his mind. _Why are they doing this? Fight body, fight! _His limbs refused to listen, so entranced were they. Without realising it, Harry's head began to fall sideways, drooping until it lay upon the dementor's bony shoulder to his left. _Get up…get up!_

"_HARRY!"_

It was useless, his head became too heavy to lift and the rest of his energy was solely directed on moving his shaky legs. His tears stopped, frozen by the sound of his mother's cries. It was like his mind had broken and was forever showing the same memory over and over and over…replaying the terrible scene before Harry's eyes. _Go away….oh please go away…_ As strange as it sounded, Harry wanted to be taken to his cell as quickly as possible, anything to get away from these monsters forcing him to relive a memory he himself had been too young to remember. They had entered a long corridor which was significantly dimmer than the main hall, with its bright interior. There were no bronze lights; the only sources of light came from metal brackets in the walls holding torches that were placed at random intervals. The walls and floors were still made from stone but of a poorer, aged quality. The floors were marked frequently and discoloured whilst the walls were rough and worn, even showing long cracks in some places. Another set of double doors outlined the end of the hallway but this time, a pair of guards stood in front of either door welcomed them. Standing straight and tall, the men remained as motionless as a statue in their light grey uniforms. They wore no headgear so their faces could clearly be seen, however their features were too ordinary to be memorable. Even their eyes were uninteresting, not completely aware of what their job entailed, of who they were working for. This whole disaster had painted the Ministry a different colour for Harry, he no longer saw them as protectors of their people, and instead he saw them as being filthy, underhanded, sly, only seeing fit to protect themselves. _Dogs of the Ministry. _Once Harry was near the guards they gave the slightest nod to the dementors and stepped aside for them, carefully keeping their constant gazes on the wall across from them. Closing his eyes briefly whilst the doors opened, Harry began to hear muffled voices in the distance.

Wrenching his eyes open he saw they had entered yet another corridor, the difference this time being the many cells on either side covering both walls completely. Cold, iron bars were used to fence each prisoner in, like cattle sent to be slaughtered. The cells in size were quite small, though not small enough to be able to hold out both your arms and touch either wall. In every cell there was a single thin window covered in bars. Each cell held one prisoner, watching them Harry saw that most of them were just laying around sleeping or otherwise thinking. _Plotting an escape plan maybe…_Harry felt reassured, he had been sure the prisoners were going to shout and jest at him, maybe even realise who he was. Yet none looked his way. Each of them wore a uniform of a black and white striped shirt and pants. The muffled voices belonged to two middle-aged men at the end of the rows of cells. They seemed to be arguing about their favourite Quidditch teams; it struck Harry that they seemed rather sane for being Azkaban prisoners. _Maybe they are new here…_It continued this way for quite some time, though they had begun to ascend the uneven staircases, Harry looking on from the discomfort of the dementor's shoulder. It had gotten colder, the walls showed signs of damp and a constant dripping met his ears, helping to mask his mother's fading screams. _Oh mother….please rest…please…_In some places on the wall the water had begun to freeze, making the wall glisten. _W-We're going very high up…W-Why is it so far away? _At last they reached the very top and met with a set of rusting metal doors. Looking up, Harry saw how close they were to the actual ceiling of Azkaban. _Why are we at the very top? _With dread Harry thought _where are the Death Eaters? _

The journey here had taken its toll on the young wizard, and he found himself too tired to think or worry about the many questions he had or who his present company were. Blinking slowly he watched idly as he was met with more rows of cells. Inside was a much different story than the previous one, instead of calm prisoners residing on their beds there were many people huddled in corners, frantically muttering to themselves. Grown men were hiding with fear under their beds and shrieked at the sight of the dementors holding Harry. Men and women reduced to their most basic animal instinct, to survive. Many helpless causes laughed loudly at the sight of the hooded creatures, causing Harry to jump slightly in alarm. It was nothing like he had ever seen. He had seen drunken men behaving more sensible than this. One man even reached out of his cell to grab at them; luckily for him he missed the fine, black cloak. Looking out of one window, Harry saw numerous black shapes swiftly moving past. _Dementors._ This statement was proven true as Harry saw the edges of the window covered in thick ice. Startled, Harry remembered there were no such traces outlining the windows at the very bottom of Azkaban. Irrational anger coiled inside him…those men downstairs were just as much criminals as these being resulted to endless psychological torture! Why on earth should they be given peace of mind when those here were given quite the opposite? With sadness Harry glanced around at the deranged inmates, knowing that they could have quite easily been resting in their beds if not for the cells they were forced to reside in. They had simply been unlucky. Or maybe he was being too naïve. What if it wasn't just a random choice? Could people be purposefully choosing who has to suffer the full blow of the dementors? _No…they couldn't possibly…could they? _Harry felt terrible, was the Ministry more corrupted than he thought? Realising his situation with dread, Harry knew he was not going to be subjected to better treatment. He was going to be treated like these poor people, but would he end up like most of them? Sure, some people seemed to be able to put off the dementor's curse…but they were very few and far between. The prisoners continued to pay no attention to Harry, which he was grateful for but it troubled him slightly that these wizards couldn't even recognize his unfortunately famous features. _They've lost their minds…no. They've had their minds taken from them! _Harry thought sadly and turned his gaze onto an old, thin man who stood trembling in a corner. At the sight of Harry he rushed forward.

"David! David!" He continually cried.

Harry merely looked on at the man, hoping that the David whom he spoke of was not forced to live in such a god-forsaken place as this. At the end of the cells were two doors, a singular one on the left and a double one on the right. The one on the left looked simple enough yet in contrast, the one on the right seemed foreboding. A chain and lock was fastened tightly over the handle of the door and more laughter and screams could be distinctly heard from within. _W-What is in there..? _It was to the left door that the dementors thankfully guided him. Just as he began to walk out of reach of the disheartening sounds a single voice cried.

"Let me out! I'm Albus Dumbledore I tell you! Let me out!"

By the man's croaking voice Harry could tell it was definitely not Dumbledore, but he couldn't decide whether to be delighted or disappointed at the discovery.

He had not the time to ponder Dumbledore's mysterious doppelganger as they entered the room. He didn't know what to expect, that was as clear as day. But he certainly didn't think he'd be taken to a cell whose only companions were its own iron bars and the solid walls around it. Staring in shock, Harry saw one lone cell at the end of a short passage. It was even darker here, with only two torches lining the walls. The cell itself looked incredibly new compared to the other cells he had witnessed. The iron bars though not particularly shiny, definitely lacked the rusty effect the others had and the walls looked quite smooth. Harry was only allowed to glimpse at the state of the surroundings due to the thin window innocently perched in the middle of the cell. The moonlight illuminated the cell bars, casting a shadow across the floor which was broken by thin shapes fluttering in the outline of the moon. One unstable-looking bed lay in the left corner of the room. Standing in front of the place he would be living in for a long time, Harry was overcome by loneliness. Having fellow prisoners around him may have let him forget why he was here, who he was, if only for a little while. Being on his own, that was impossible as the only company he would have would be his memories, and at the best of times he was able to shake them off without worry. He had been quite good at it. _I don't want to go in…_Harry's irrational mind began to childishly declare. _I would – would rather stay with the dementors t-than…! _In a peculiar way, the dementors seemed to be thinking the same thing. _My memories…do they please them this much? That – that no one else can satisfy them compared to me and my past? _Harry could think of many people whom the dementors could feast upon and who could be more satisfying. Surely the Dark Lord himself was tastier than him! Think of his experiences…the people he had killed, the pain he's in. _The pain…_Nevertheless it seemed right now, no one was more important to them than himself. In the middle of the cell the dementors continued to hold him, until one reluctantly let go. And that made all the difference. Breathing in, it was like he had just inhaled all his spent energy. Wrenching his head and arm away from the remaining dementor he backed away until he had hit the iron bars of his window. Silence. _W-Why aren't they attacking? _After a few long seconds they gave him one last glance (he assumed) before obediently exiting his cell_…my cell…_

As the iron door slammed, Harry slumped to the floor and wondered briefly _when had it all gone wrong? _Hugging his knees to his chest, he rested his head against his sore arms, sinking in the resolute reality that he was in prison, in Azkaban. The red marks circled around each of Harry's wrists, evidence of his contact with the foul creatures, almost like the dementor's hold had remained, despite the lack of a physical pressure.

_-HP-_

_31__st__ July_

_The Daily Prophet_

_Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, Safe and Well_

_Exclusive: It is with great satisfaction that we announce that our beloved Chosen One, Harry Potter has been found and is recovering from his traumatic ordeal. Last week, a terrible tragedy befell at his home, number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. The wizarding community feared for the young boy who has had to overcome so much in his short life. Today we bid goodbye to those fears as a brief statement was given to us today by our Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge in which he said:_

"_The boy was found stumbling along a dark alleyway quite a distance away from the house hours later. He had many small cuts and bruises, which were probably made on his journey from the house in his state of shock. The poor boy was delirious, shouting about his owl. He still hasn't fully recovered from the shock so not much more can be said about the incidents of that night. But what we do know is that in the middle or after the murders Potter's owl had escaped and flown off in fright. The boy had been searching for her for hours. While he recovers, he shall be in the care of Albus Dumbledore and rest assured the Ministry is using all its power and intelligence to do everything it can to see the culprit is caught."_

_And now, from that account we can truly rest our worries and hope that in time Harry Potter himself will make an appearance after he has recovered._

_Written by Rita Skeeter_

The paper was left resting on a sleek, dark wooden table in a room filled with nervous men and women cloaked in black robes. At the head of the table, Voldemort stood behind his chair proud and with a dangerous glint in his eyes like a snake about to strike its victim. He was outlined by the warm embers of the fire that crackled gloriously. The Death Eaters watched on in apprehension, sensing their Master's displeasure.

With his long, thin fingers curled around the top of the chair, the Dark Lord spoke.

"How long…how long has it been now, since the boy's disappearance?" He hissed quietly, menacingly, deeply gazing at each and every one of them. No one dared to meet his gaze lest his frustrations be taken out on them.

"No one? No one knows?...Severus." He teased.

At his name, the man to Voldemort's right lifted his head, though only chanced glancing at the fearful Dark Lord from the corner of his eye.

"A-A week now, My Lord" He bowed his head meekly in respect.

"How long, Severus?"

"A week now, My Lord"

"Yes" He drew out the 's', sending shivers down some of their backs.

"Correct Severus. Yes, it has been a week since the boy disappeared. And what have we to show for it hmm? Well?" At that he began to circle the table, careful taking his time to instil fear into each of them. "Nothing. Nothing save for the Ministry's lies. Within days I expected to have my hands around the boy's throat, yet all I have are excuses. Perhaps I overestimated you…"

One Death Eater, a foolish and impulsive young man rose.

"We're sorry, My Lord! We will-"

"Avada Kedavra"

His body dropped to the floor with a light thud, his mouth and eyes still open, wishing to vocalise their admiration and worth to their Lord and Master. In the distance, a snake hissed and began to slither towards them.

With his back once more to the fireplace, Voldemort continued.

"Now, we have almost completely taken over the Ministry, our eyes and ears are everywhere. Then why is it that we have failed to learn one thing from Potter's disappearance, except that the old coot is likely to be involved? Lucius." His red eyes stared intently on the pale, white face of Lucius Malfoy. His long silvery-white hair framed his Pureblood face, emphasizing his cheekbones and astonishingly cold, grey eyes. He bowed his head before speaking.

"My Lord, no word has been said about Potter. The Minister seems to be keeping a tight-lip on it all and no one dares to speak about it in idle conversation."

Voldemort for a few moments pondered this. Then at last he seemed to make a decision.

"There is no time to hold back for we have wasted so much of it already. Lucius you will arrange for an audience with the Minister concerning your son Draco tomorrow. You will inform him that dear Draco has been fretting over Potter and request whether any information is available to ease your distressed son's mind as he and Potter are good friends. If there is the slightest chance that he is hiding something you are to 'Imperio' him immediately and gain all the answers you can. If it comes to that, 'Obliviate' him. Should you fail, you know the consequences for the Minister and yourself."

"Y-Yes, I understand My Lord." Lucius replied.

"It should not need to be said, Severus, that if the old coot returns or you find out anything regarding the boy you shall report to me at once. Is that clear?"

"It is, My Lord" The greasy-haired man answered.

"Very good. I shall find that boy yet. Leave." The snake-like man turned to face the fire, its flames reflecting upon his own fiery orbs.

"There's nowhere you can run, little Harry." He grinned.

_-HP-_

It was in the afternoon of the 31st of July. A warm setting sun coated the surrounding fields with a comforting golden glaze. Amongst the fields lay an upright, irregular house which was quite crooked yet in no way unwelcome. Chickens were pecking the ground, making their way back to their coop and a few gnomes were bustling about mischievously. Inside the house there was a small kitchen with a long, worn wooden table and chairs. Sitting at the table were Mr and Mrs Weasley, a red-headed couple. Mr Weasley had one arm around his wife, soothing her. Mrs Weasley was holding a handkerchief in her shaking hands; her eyes were red and swollen. To the left of them sat Remus Lupin, a middle-aged man with greying hair. A few long scars outlined his face. Next to him sat Tonks, a young woman with spiky violet hair, who was nervously biting her lip. To her left sat Alastor Moody, a retired Auror. His charmed eye swivelled sickeningly fast, like a mad hounds. On the right side of Mr and Mrs Weasley sat two red-headed twins Fred and George Weasley, who in any other situation would have been joking and teasing. Today, their faces were set in a frown. At the side of them sat Ron Weasley, who was whispering quietly to Hermione Granger, an intelligent muggleborn. Ginny sat next to her, the youngest of all the Weasleys. At the other end of the table sat the esteemed headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, in a midnight blue robe accompanied with a twinkling smile.

For the first few minutes all was quiet, then in a quivering voice, Mrs Weasley spoke.

"Albus – Oh Albus is it true? Is he really safe? W-When we read that horrible article why…we didn't know what to do! I burst into tears thinking of poor Harry!"

Everyone glanced at the old man, waiting for his answer.

"Yes, yes Molly my dear, rest assured that Harry has been found and is safe. I feared for Harry just as you did and was relieved when the Minister reported to have found him. The poor boy was in such a state that I couldn't take him to Hogwarts. Believe me if I could have I would, you know as well as I do how fond of that school Harry is. So I decided to take him with me and nurse him better myself as I feel partly to blame since I should have taken better care of him." Dumbledore softly said.

"You are not to blame in this Albus. It's the Death Eaters that had something to do with it, mark my words! Just be glad something worse didn't happen to Harry." Moody gruffly stated.

"H-How is he, Albus?" Lupin asked sadly, wishing there was something more he could have done to protect Harry.

"He's recovering. For the first few hours I had to stay by his side in case he woke up and panicked. He's spent most days sleeping; when he wakes he is very quiet. I'm afraid the ordeal must have shocked him more than I anticipated."

"But can we not see him, Albus?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"I'm afraid not, Molly. I don't know what would happen if he had to face so many people so shortly after the experience. Do not fret, my dear, he shall know you are all worried about him." Dumbledore smiled kindly, setting Mrs Weasley's troubles at rest for the time being.

"And does You-Know-Who know of this, Severus?" Lupin inquired to the black cloaked figure of Severus Snape, who was lurking quietly in a corner. At hearing his name he turned slightly before facing back uninterestedly.

"The Dark Lord suspects Dumbledore has had something to do with Potter's disappearance." Snape answered shortly.

There was no going against Dumbledore's wishes. They all knew that. After all, he was the best person to help Harry recover. In his hands, Harry should be ready to see them within a few weeks. It was on this slightly unsatisfied note that the brief meeting ended. The children, not being members of the Order, didn't feel comfortable enough to add anything to the conversation. Though once it had ended, they were free to question Mr and Mrs Weasley on the matter, once everyone else had left.

"Dad, do you think Harry will be okay? It's true what Dumbledore said isn't it? Why can't we see Harry?" Ron loudly asked, showing his worry for his best friend.

"Ron you should know to trust Dumbledore's word by now, he's a wise man. He'll take care of Harry. It'll take time, that's all." Mr Weasley calmly answered him.

Realising nothing else would be gained from talking to them, the five of them headed upstairs. Gathering in Ron's room, they sat down. Fred was the first to speak.

"So what do you reckon then? Are they keeping something from us?"

"No I don't think so; else they wouldn't have let us in the meeting in the first place." Ginny replied earnestly.

"I think they're all just as confused as we are. We're all worried for Harry." Hermione said.

"You heard what Dad said, we have to trust Dumbledore. If we can't trust him, then who can we trust?" Ron said, covering a yawn.

"Yeah Ron's right. Well then we're off to bed. Later." Fred and George rose, giving a small smile before leaving the room.

"I think I'd better go too, before Mum comes." Ginny said.

Once they were alone, Hermione turned to Ron.

"Do you really think everything's ok? I mean, why wouldn't Dumbledore let Harry see us? He won't worry from seeing us." Hermione's frustrations were easy to hear in her voice as it rose slightly.

"Listen Hermione, Harry's alright. I bet he just needs to calm down. Dumbledore has a reason for not wanting us to see Harry and it must be important. Right now, all we can do is wait."

Hermione gazed sadly at her friend, whilst she tried to ignore the suspicions in her mind, warning her that something wasn't right.

_-HP-_

1st August

It was a bright, warm day that met the many people waking from their peaceful sleep. Walking briskly, a man in a fine black and grey suit holding a long black cane with a silver snake handle paused in front of a polished door. On it read:

_Minister for Magic_

_Cornelius O. Fudge_

Tapping on it lightly, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him quickly. Fudge, who was sitting examining pieces of parchment, at the sight of Mr Malfoy hastily sorted them and stood in greeting.

"Ah Lucius, a pleasure to see you. I admit I was surprised to hear you wished to see me. Is there anything bothering you?"

After they had shook hands and sat at their rightful seats, Mr Malfoy spoke.

"The pleasure is all mine, Minister. Yes, there was a matter. I'm not sure whether I have spoken of this before but my son Draco and Mr Potter are very close friends. Draco never stops taking about him at home and we've been meaning to invite him to our Manor but, with all that has been happening, naturally Dumbledore believes it is safer to keep Harry within Hogwarts and his home. I'm afraid after hearing of the terrible incident with Mr Potter and his relatives, my son has become quite distressed. I know the Ministry, and you yourself, are doing a very good job of maintaining the peace but I feel I must ask whether anything more can be said about Mr Potter? Anything that would help ease my family's mind." Lucius gravely said.

At this the Minister seemed flustered, clearly not expecting to hear such a thing.

"W-Well you see, Lucius, it's been quite hard keeping the media away from this business and it is as you said, we are trying to keep everyone calm. The last thing we need right now is an incident inflicting panic on our people. The papers have said all that we have to say on the matter, and while I understand your son's worries I'm afraid I can say no more. You understand I'm sure, Lucius?" Fudge nervously stated, beginning to redden.

Lucius merely smiled and nodded in acceptance.

"Of course, Minister. I should not have inquired about such a thing, I apologize. Now, if you'll excuse me." He stood and turned to leave. Before he grasped the door knob he said "Ah! One more thing Minister…" he turned "Imperio!" He had brandished his wand with such speed that the Minister had no time to defend himself. He was helpless.

"Now, you're going to tell me the truth about Harry Potter's disappearance and where he is…"

Fudge, being a man who is easily led on and swayed by others, stood no chance against such a curse, and after the deed was done Mr Malfoy walked back over to the door.

"Enervate"

Fudge shot up suddenly in shock. He glanced swiftly around his office.

"L-Lucius…?" Fudge's confusion was evident as he spotted the smiling Death Eater.

"Sorry to bother you, Minister. I've got what I came for. Thank you. I'll be on my way now." Striding out of the office, Mr Malfoy headed for the nearest fireplace. In the next instant he was confidently walking up the path towards Malfoy Manor. Once inside he lifted up his left sleeve to reveal a pure, black, bold Dark Mark positively gleaming against his pale skin. Immediately he pressed it, waiting anxiously. Within a few moments a mass of swirling black, thick tendril-like smoke filled the room. Once gone, it revealed the overpowering figure of Lord Voldemort, his narrowed eyes showing his dislike and impatience for such a greeting. Lucius wasted no time, bowing from the waist he spoke shakingly.

"My Lord – the boy, I have found him. The papers – the Ministry have concocted an intricate fabrication. Potter is in Azkaban." Lucius gasped in excitement, like a dog that had pleased its Master.

And pleased it had, for at hearing the last few words Voldemort's eyes widened in delight and he released a terrifyingly beautiful grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you once again for your reviews, favourites and alerts! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, please would you tell me if you think I'm going too fast with this story, I don't want to seem like I am rushing this. I try to draw scenes out fully with detail but I'm not sure whether the plot itself is developing too fast. Your advice would be greatly appreciated! Thank you. Take care everyone.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

><p>After the dementors left, Harry's shaking returned tenfold. He didn't dare to move, for he knew he would fall straight to the ground. Anyone walking past would take one short glance at Harry Potter and instantly assume he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. The pale skin, flat, greasy hair, thin body, shaking limbs. Every ingredient for a good drug addict bar the injection scars and the drugs necessary to complete the mixture.<p>

Before long, Harry was desperately trying to hold back the tears of cold finality. Like many of the other prisoners, the first few hours of prison life had reduced Harry to a shivering mass of flesh and tears. He cried and cried and cried, gasping for more air. The room was too small, he felt enclosed, suffocated. He was too afraid to look up and around his cell. Tightly closing his eyes, he tried to control his loud, erratic heartbeat. _Calm down…calm. I can't pass out here…_From the fall in temperature; he knew it was becoming very late. Peeking out from under his crossed arms, Harry saw the shimmer of moonlight streaming in through the window. Quite abruptly a black shadow swept across the window, then another. Continually they passed his cell at random. Terrified, Harry hid his head in his crossed arms. Suddenly, a flash of sound rose in his mind but swiftly disappeared. Then it returned, but for a few seconds longer and louder. As this cycle went on, the sound dawned upon Harry. It was his mother's memory, coming to cause him more distress. And still the screams grew louder. Harry curled in on himself, trying futilely to shelter himself from the harsh sounds. His eyes now wide open, too afraid to close. Her cries rebounded in his ears, growing louder, louder. Fearing what sleep would bring, he sat unmoving, unblinkingly, like a statue surrounded by his worst memories. His mother's screams were rising and falling, like a terribly corrupted lullaby created by the dementors, only to cause him more pain, not to offer peace.

_-HP-_

Another endless day had gone by in the monstrous prison of Azkaban. His body had betrayed his mind by forcing him to sleep, and as expected it hadn't been pleasant. The few hours of sleep he had been granted with had done him more bad than good as his parent's memory plagued him even in his dreams. It was always the same nightmare…the death of his parents. After his scare with the dementors, he had quickly crawled to the wall opposite him, moved the revolting bed more in the centre of the room and taken refuge in the left corner of the cell. His back was now against the wall of the window and he was further away from the door. In this position, he was reminded of his safe, cosy cupboard at the muggle house. His back was safe from danger and any threats could easily be sighted in front of him. Here, he felt less tense and was able to lean his head against the wall whilst still grasp his knees to his chest comfortably.

And that is how, within a few days Harry Potter had already claimed his very own corner.

_-HP-_

Waking never felt more dreadful than in this dismal place. Harry sometimes wished his body would just give up and send him into an infinite sleep, at least then he wouldn't have to wake to the sound of his parents being killed. Indeed it was a strange thing, waking to your parent's deaths. And it became even stranger when it no longer affected you, like how a clock in your room gradually becomes silent, its constant ticking deafened by familiar ears. Though sometimes, Harry would get a violent pain shooting through his head, so powerful and intense against his worn, dimmed mind that it left him shivering and sweating in a ball upon the floor.

_-HP-_

Morning rose slowly, brightly, shaking off all reminders of the devastatingly cold night before. The birds, whose songs often woke fellow dreamers, were nowhere to be seen. The soothing, pleasant breeze was transformed into a violent, raging roar that rumbled constantly within the confined walls. Green, clean scenery that welcomed the usually silent, thoughtful boy was already fading from his mind. He had not the heart to look outside, too afraid was he of the surely horrific sight he would likely witness. Nature, which was normally so beautiful and innocent, compared to its barbaric, heartless human neighbours was terrifyingly brutal on this small, merciless island. It was as if it was inflicting some sort of revenge against the monsters who had so shamefully abused its kindness and hospitality.

The waves slapped the worn rocks that held their cunning enemies. Strangely, in the cold, damp cells it seemed like nature held them prisoner, instead of the many guards and dementors swarming the area.

It had been a few days since he had first arrived at his cell. In all that time, he had hardly moved an inch. Instead, he leaned heavily against the wall. All the while, his body shivered, not yet accustomed to the harsh temperatures he was being subjected to. Along the lines of desperately trying to acquire heat, his body had grown numb. Harry no longer felt his aching muscles or his frozen bones. _Perhaps it's better this way…_For the moment, his mind was resting, not at ease per se, merely preparing itself for the trials ahead, enjoying what little comfort was left. Harry lifted his strained neck to stare at the blank, stone ceiling. It seemed there were various spells applied to each cell to make it so you feel no hunger…no thirst. You feel no need to empty your bladder…all you feel is despair. Despair, loneliness, and drowsiness…_exactly what they want you to feel _Harry thought angrily. Like a sedated animal, tired and weak both in mind and in body. It made Harry feel nervous to know how much control the guards had over the prisoners…over him. He had no idea when he had finally succumbed to sleep. Though by his dazed mind he realised it hadn't been nearly early enough. Sighing, he unsteadily rose to his feet. His stiff muscles ached in protest. As he got up, he stood for a few minutes thinking. The stagnant routine irritated him already. How could he survive a lifetime of nothingness? This utter lack of _anything_ was unbearable. _There is nothing to do. _The thought was childish first and foremost, but in this situation it rang clearly, loudly, importantly. In his circumstances, the most important thing was to keep his mind active and busy, lest it sink into insanity.

_Today will go by and tomorrow will come. Months will go by and many more months will follow. Years will go by and more years will arrive._ _But that isn't true for me. I live today now. This moment is my everything. I live every minute anxiously, waiting for the next in the hopes that my sanity will not die, that I will keep the knowledge of the very hour, minute, day, year, the place I am kept in…the memories I'm forced to hold…the very essence and being that I am. I am Harry Potter. I mustn't forget that fact, if all else is lost. I must remember myself._

Frustratingly, Harry glanced around his cell. There was nothing…only the cheap bed he hadn't bothered to sit on, even the floor appeared more comfortable than it. Turning his eyes to the corners of the room across from the cell door, he caught a glimpse of a single, small stone. Crouching next to it, he placed it in the palm of his hand. It was quite worn; the edges were no longer smooth. His mind decided, Harry lay down next to the wall and began to scratch a short line into it. _This is so stupid _Harry thought. _But it's the only way I can remember…just how long I've been in here!_ Once he had successfully scratched into the wall exactly seven lines Harry was met with a brief sense of accomplishment. He rose to his knees, wanting desperately to _do_ something. Something other than sitting in his cell waiting for death himself to appear!

With hesitation clear in his eyes, he stood and started towards the window, remembering his last encounter. The very picture of freedom lay before him, covered in metal bars, forever reminding him that he was indeed trapped. Pressing his head to the bars, he took in the bright glare of the sun, wincing slightly he looked down and at the endless murky-blue sea. The colours of the world seemed a lot darker here, dimmed somewhat. As if dying. Naturally, it did nothing to ease his troubles. Drowsily, he felt himself lean and when his head banged the edge of the wall to the left of the window, he jumped and quickly grasped the bars with both his hands.

He had begun to steady his breathing when quite abruptly; blackness enveloped his cell, until he could barely see his hands in front of his face. The only light came from a torch resting against the wall opposite his cell, though it was some distance along the hallway. Harry could see the faint reflection of light upon the stone floor outside his cell. With one hand still clutching one of the window's bars he shook the other but could only faintly see it. The gasping returned, his dilated pupils frantically waited for a dangerous creature to grasp his shoulders, yet he did nothing to defend himself, too scared was he to look around. Icy clarity went through him like a flash of lightning. The darkness was _moving! _Though ever so slightly, like a ripple in water. Curiosity won over fear as he stood gazing into it. The simplicity of it was beautiful. So amazed and frightened was Harry by the sight that not a thought came into his mind at the near-silent cries of his mother, steadily rising like an echo inside an empty room. His attention wavered for an instant as a chilling sting hit his left hand holding the bar. Letting out a pained gasp, Harry watched as the frozen bar began to infect his shivering hand, coating it in a thin layer of glittering ice. Attempting to open up his hand proved useless, it was thoroughly stuck to the bar. Cursing his stupidity Harry tried to pry his hand off by pulling on it with his other hand; though at the jolt of sharp pain he had to stop. _Should I call for help? Will anyone hear me?_

Unsure, he stared into the flowing darkness.

"_HARRY! HARRY!"_

Biting his lip to prevent himself from crying out, he grasped his hair in response to his throbbing head. Tightly shutting his eyes, he tried to ignore the faint stroking upon his freezing hand. In an instant a terribly thin, bony hand grabbed his left, attempting to pull him towards it. Flaring open, his stunningly bright eyes looked upon the ever-present darkness. Like his shadow, Harry was sure it would forever follow him. This time however, it looked familiar as streaks of light could be seen around the figure, highlighting its shape. Paralysed in terror, he watched as it lowered its hood, revealing a sight so horrid most would go insane merely by looking at it. Thin, grey skin stretched tightly over its gaunt features. _Oh God…the eyes…t-there's no eyes…o-oh no…o-oh…_

The complexion could not be called a face, so hideous was it, for there were no eyes in its empty sockets. Only a frightful, gaping mouth that widened, as if wishing to swallow Harry whole. Its other hand tried to claw at him to bring him closer to it. He had long since become motionless, his mother's cries loud in his ears, much louder than the night before. His tears had frozen whilst falling down his ashen, pale face. The face of a dead man. He was hearing her die again and again…for him. Harry's eyes remained brightly lit, like the Avada Kedavra curse that gave birth to both his legend and his golden chains. Finally its hand was able to reach his face, though was not close enough to fully hold it. Its anger was evident as one of its fingers scratched his cheek wildly, causing a steady line of blood to fall down his face. At this, Harry blinked. Not at all too soon his survival instincts kicked in and he reared backwards, however it wasn't nearly as far as he would have preferred due to his left hand, still in the clutches of both the dementor and the metal bar. In pure determination, he grabbed his left arm and pulled. His screams were muffled by his closed mouth. Again. Again. With one last painful tug his left hand was ripped from the bar and, unable to contain them any longer; his screams tore through the cell, ricocheting off the stone walls. Stumbling backwards Harry's cries stopped, replaced by shaky gasps as he hit the far wall. He looked down at the blood covered hand held up by his shaking right hand. A few thin layers of skin had been torn off his palm and fingers, and the cold bit into his sores. His legs were trembling heavily and still the dementor looked in on him, like an interesting specimen. The world began to tilt sideways and Harry felt his head hit the stone floor, lift from the impact and then fall onto it one last time. The malevolent darkness swam into his vision once more and the sound of echoing footsteps was the last thing he could remember.

_-HP-_

It felt like the world was distorted, the noises all around him had an acquired surreal effect to them and if he opened his eyes, he imagined the room and its objects to be floating. Two people were talking, of what he didn't know. They didn't sound far away, but still he couldn't fully hear what they were saying.

"But…surely…healer." A female, she sounded unhappy.

"No we have been given…must remain in…cell." A strict man.

"Please…affected…dementors."

"Send…guards…window."

Blissful silence.

When he felt prepared, he slowly opened his eyes, unaware of what would meet him. He had to shut them again almost instantly due to the incredibly white walls all around him. Again he tried to look around the room and gladly found that his eyes had adjusted to the brightness. The room was a simple one, though contained significantly more furniture than his own. Three beds in a row against the wall sat on his side of the room, with the other two beds to his left. Across from him were three other beds in the same position. Curtains of a light grey colour remained at the side of each bed. To his right, in the middle of the wall sat a lone door. He lifted up his arms, however looking down he saw that they had been tied to the bed by thick, black straps. Horror filled him to the brim at once, tugging on each of his restraints he opened his mouth to shout.

"Mr Potter, is it?" The sudden appearance of another person made him exhale in surprise, resulting in a brief, violent coughing fit.

"W-Where am I? Why am I tied down?" Harry stated in confusion.

Before him stood a relatively tall, blond woman, presumably a nurse. She wore a knee-length white dress with long sleeves. Compared to the grumpy receptionist, she seemed quite friendly but her eyes still retained that hard, stone-like quality of all the Azkaban employees.

"You're in the Azkaban hospital, Mr Potter. These restraints were just to make sure you didn't harm yourself or anyone else whilst we healed your hand." She simply said.

"I-I won't hurt anyone. Please, I promise I won't try anything." Harry pleaded sincerely.

Sighing loudly she looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Very well Mr Potter. You need to change into your uniform anyway." She began to undo each restraint.

Harry sat up slowly once she was done and rubbed each wrist. A few bruises covered his hands and wrists where the dementors had held him as they escorted him to his cell. Now, another mark had accompanied the others, courtesy of the fiendish black straps loosely hanging from the bed. _How long was I out for? _At the sight of his left hand he saw that it had been completely covered with white bandages from the tips of his fingers to his wrist. He was about to touch the fabric when the nurse suddenly reprimanded him by lightly tapping his right hand.

"We'll have none of that poking, Mr Potter. Leave it alone to fully heal. I won't be too happy with you if I have to re-bandage your wounds! Though they should be mostly closed up by now. Well, here's your uniform." From the bedside table she retrieved a bundle of neatly folded black and white striped clothes. "You can get changed here once I pull the curtain around, just pass your old clothes over. I'll get rid of them for you." She began to immediately close the curtain.

_Get rid of…? Oh yes…It's not like I'll need them anytime soon._

Waiting until the curtain had completely sealed him from her cold gaze, he stood looking at the clothes in his hands. Shaking the remaining dizziness from his system, he began to change into the uniform. Harry then folded up his old clothes and held them over the curtain for the nurse to collect. The uniform was quite baggy and felt extremely thin. _Maybe they had none my size? _The shirt felt a few sizes too big for him; the collar was quite large leaving part of his shoulders bare, though the shirt didn't fall completely from his shoulders. Thankfully, the sleeves were only a few inches too long and covered his hands up to the tips of his fingers. _Maybe it's better baggy…it might be warmer. _The pants on the other hand only hung slightly loose, but due to the shirt his chest was fully covered anyway. Harry was reminded of Sirius's mug shot, the first image he ever saw of his godfather. At first, he terrified Harry. He looked mad; he looked like a criminal…like a killer. _Do I look the same?...Wait…I never had to have my picture taken…Why not? _At that realisation, Harry could only guess as to the truth. Though he felt uneasy. _Are the Ministry trying to…hide me?_

The curtains opened at once and he was met with the eyes of the nurse once again.

"Socks, Mr Potter. Hand them over, your shoes too." She ordered.

"B-But…it-it's cold here." Harry hesitatingly replied.

"You'll live Mr Potter. Every inmate has them collected. Don't want you hiding something from us; we've already checked your cell today in your absence. We would've done this as soon as you came in but the healer thought it proper to give you a week to rest and fully get used to being here. A whole lot of good that did you…" She snorted.

Frowning, Harry had no choice but to obey. The stone was already cold but was even more so to his now bare feet. He lifted each foot off the ground at a time, trying to let them heat up before placing them back down on the unforgiving floor.

"I-If every inmate has one, then why haven't I been made to take a mug shot too?" Harry asked boldly.

"You're a special case, Mr Potter. No one needs to see your face on a picture to know you; you're recognizable to everyone already."

"Is that what the Ministry told you?" He added spitefully, shocking himself.

The door suddenly opened, halting any remark she might have made. A tall, thin man appeared in a long, white coat with grey pants. His pasty white skin and dark brown hair offered quite a contrast, much like Harry's own features. The man had crystal blue eyes that gazed at him in keen interest and excitement. He made Harry feel anxious. The healer had a creepy, kind smile that appeared sinister in a flash and was gone again in the blink of an eye. His blue eyes were wide as if trying to be forcefully friendly.

"Ah healer, perfect timing. I was just wondering how to administer it without him protesting."

"What? Administer what?" Harry hastily replied.

"Ah Mr Potter! How nice to see you awake! I trust your stay so far has been…liveable?" He said, grinning.

Harry refused to answer, his distrust clearly visible in his narrowed eyes. His mouth was set in a frown. Seeing Harry's reaction, the healer's smile widened.

"Now, is that any way to behave towards the one who fixed your arm, hmm?" He coaxed.

This man's false demeanour…scared Harry more than he could explain. Stepping back, he was shocked to see the healer lunge forward and grasp his left shoulder.

"Oh now that won't do at all. Must I show you how to behave, Mr Potter?" He whispered, almost teasingly.

Harry grabbed the man's hand, meeting his excited gaze with glaring orbs.

"N-No. Let go. Let go of me!" Harry said, rising to a shout. The surely improper conduct of the man was awful and in such a situation as this, Harry felt too vulnerable to allow anyone near him. Yet this man had clutched his shoulder with no hesitation! As if familiar to him!

Though the man only laughed to his verbalised unhappiness.

"Dear me! It seems I'll be seeing more of our little troublemaker, doesn't it? But don't worry, Mr Potter, I'll teach you your manners myself. I'd be more than happy to." He leaned to whisper into Harry's ear, now grasping both shoulders in his strong hands while remaining at Harry's side.

"And you will learn, Mr Potter." He finished threateningly.

The words caught in Harry's throat in fright.

"Nurse! Kindly get it would you? It's time to send dear Mr Potter back to his room."

Whipping his head around, Harry saw the nurse, who had stood unconcerned through the entire ordeal. _Can she not see what is happening? Surely this isn't…normal? Do they treat everyone like this? Like a naughty child who needs to be taught a lesson? _She then turned to open a tall white cabinet with a key from her pocket. Pulling out a box, she turned her back to him. Harry had no choice but to look back at his captor. Said man was watching Harry with incredible focus and amusement.

"Ready, healer." The nurse replied.

The man moved around Harry, so that his chest was pressed against Harry's back. In shock, Harry widened his eyes as he saw the nurse holding a thin needle.

"N-No! I don't need it! W-What is it for? I don't need it! I'm ok! I'm ok I'm ok I'm ok!" Harry struggled but the man's left arm simply wrapped around him, trapping his arms against him and keeping his chest still.

"Oh and Mr Potter, I'd be more careful around those windows if I were you. Unless you wish to make another visit to the hospital." The man said, all the while grinning.

The needle plunged into his right arm and he let out a cry. Immediately he began to feel dizzy and everything began to blur. It felt like he was in St. Mungo's rather than Azkaban. He fell back against the man, who merely held him tighter.

"That's right Mr Potter. Rest now. Good boy." He soothingly whispered into his ear.

_-HP-_

2nd August

A glorious fire crackled quietly in the large drawing room. Most of the many seats around the table were filled; only one remained empty, to the right of the head chair. Occupying said chair was Voldemort, who sat silently, ensuring the same behaviour from the others. Whilst the room was silent, the mood was in no way angry, instead a throb of excitement seemed to pass over each of the Death Eaters and occasionally one would smile for an instant.

Yesterday, they had all been informed of Harry Potter's suspected whereabouts and had been anxiously awaiting their next orders from their master. As soon as Lucius Malfoy had delivered his important message to the Dark Lord, Voldemort had begun to devise a plan in order to establish whether the information was true or false. After all, the boy was Dumbledore's loyal puppet and the harsh surroundings of Azkaban were in no way befitting of the naïve mascot of the Light. Bright, manipulative eyes had stared into Lucius' own submissive ones as memory after memory was discarded until the snake-like man had found the desired conversation between Lucius and the Minister for Magic. Once the memory had been analysed, the Dark Lord had dismissed the silver haired Death Eater so as to fully contemplate his next move.

Seated before his followers, the terrifyingly powerful Lord Voldemort addressed them directly.

"As you are aware, the boy has been missing for over a week. When we last gathered, I told you of the information retrieved from our dear Minister. That the Light's precious golden boy is in Azkaban. To think the old fool would allow this places doubt upon the theory. Therefore, we must first infiltrate the prison to establish whether the boy is there or not. Until then, we cannot afford any foolish attacks. Anyone who dares to go against my wishes shall be punished severely." He ordered, surveying each person. Through his manner of speaking and tone of voice it was clear that their excitement had affected him slightly also. Keenly they listened to his speech. One Death Eater, a woman with brown, untidy hair leaned forward eagerly. Her wide eyes shone in admiration.

"My Lord…I would be most honoured to-" She started though stopped immediately as the strikingly pale Dark Lord raised his hand.

"Your enthusiasm pleases me, Bella. Though it serves no purpose for this particular task. No, I need someone who is unfamiliar to the guards, someone who is unknown widely to the wizarding community. This task must be conducted with the utmost care and patience. It would do no good to use a guard in Azkaban. The person must be able to get close to the prisoners freely in case the boy truly is in Azkaban." He cunningly said.

Bellatrix Lestrange meekly lowered her head slightly at Voldemort's reply and sat back in her chair, all the while listening intently.

"My Lord…perhaps someone in the medical profession? My son, Draco, informed me that Potter is prone to injuries and has spent much time in the hospital wing at Hogwarts." Malfoy remarked.

"Ah a healer, perhaps? Yes, that sounds suitable. Very well. Macnair, I am sure you would be able to handle such a simple task of acquiring a healer from St. Mungo's. You will not be seen or heard. The old fool must not know we are closing in on him. I expect you to have him here by tomorrow. Use whatever means to retrieve him. You will control yourself from causing any…unnecessary deaths. Is that understood?" The Dark Lord's voice grew softer as the veiled threat became clearer. His threatening whispers were extremely effective, more so than shouts. His soft words were known to produce tremors in the bravest of men.

"Yes, My Lord" Macnair, a tall, muscular man stammered.

"Good. With Fudge beginning to lose control of the present situation it should be all too easy to place a healer in Azkaban without attracting much attention. I await your results, Macnair. Leave."

And with that, the Death Eaters left, only to return the following night.

_-HP-_

3rd August

Once more, the Death Eaters seated themselves at the table in Malfoy Manor and again one seat remained empty. Covered in black, silk robes the Dark Lord sat patiently, confident in the silence of the room. A snake, residing in the corner of the room, began to slither towards their master – Voldemort. It was of incredible length and could easily overpower any man or woman. This, the members surrounding the table knew as they warily regarded the monstrous snake. Once at Voldemort's side the snake raised its head until it was above the arms of his chair. In response to this, the snake-like man raised his right hand and began to stroke the snake with two of his fingers. For an instant, he seemed deep in thought, then as fast as a snake's strike, he focused his attention towards the other occupants of the room.

"You may have noticed that one of us has been absent for a while now. Severus is, as you know, a spy for the Dark at Hogwarts, but he also reports back to Dumbledore. The old coot believes Severus is a spy for him entirely. Nevertheless the matter of Harry Potter is serious and I shall take no chances in snatching the boy from the Light's influence. As such, Severus is not to be told of these meetings. I will not risk losing the boy to Dumbledore." His piercing eyes left no room for argument.

"Now, Wormtail, bring our new guest."

A cowardly man lurking in the corner jolted in fright at his master's orders.

"Y-Yes master." Scurrying quickly, like a rat, he left the room.

"I trust you ran into no problems when retrieving the man, Macnair?"

"No, My Lord. I waited until he had left the building and then stunned him when we were far away from St. Mungo's. We remained unnoticed." The Death Eater replied with slight pride.

"Good. For your sake Macnair, I hope he is suitable."

The doors of the drawing room opened. Wormtail appeared and led by the arm a bound man with dark brown hair and blue eyes. A wand was pressed to his throat to assure his full cooperation.

"Ah! Healer. How nice of you to have come." Voldemort hissed menacingly.

The healer seemed to have been silenced and could only whimper at the sight of such a horrifying creature.

"Come, Wormtail, bring him closer."

The man was extremely pale and looked quite weak. Once at the left side of the Dark Lord, Wormtail was ushered away, leaving the poor healer standing before the devil, in all sense of the word. Turning to Macnair, Voldemort inquired.

"Name?"

"Alexander Galen, My Lord."

"I see. Well, dear healer Galen, I hope Wormtail has treated you fairly. Come now, don't be shy." Voldemort mocked, releasing the 'Silencio' on the man.

Healer Galen remained silent, too scared to speak.

"H-He lives alone, My Lord. He has no wife or children. N-No one would notice his disappearance or question his change in job locations. I thought he would be the most-" Macnair began nervously.

"Enough. Do you know who I am, healer Galen?"

The man nodded, swallowing briefly.

"P-Please…my-my family has n-never objected t-to your views s-sir…p-please." The man pleaded desperately.

To this the Dark Lord laughed.

"Oh no, healer Galen, I will not kill you! You are much too important for that, for now. But you are quite weak, much like Wormtail over there…I would not trust a Hufflepuff to conduct such an important task as this. No." Frowning, Voldemort glanced at Macnair before smirking slightly. "But fear not, Macnair. All is not lost. Normally, an 'Imperio' would suffice, but with such an intricate task as this…one needs their initiative. A Polyjuice potion would work perfectly. Since you retrieved the healer, it is only fair that you should be the one to infiltrate Azkaban, Macnair."

"Wormtail, keep the healer downstairs. He'll need to be kept alive for quite some time if Potter happens to be there." The healer's cries of "Please…please" began again. "I'm afraid, Nagini, that mere rats will have to suffice for now until your fresh meal is ready." Voldemort hissed.

Once healer Galen had been escorted out of the room, Voldemort turned to Macnair.

"You are to report to me anything that seems suspicious. Should your identity be discovered…" Voldemort softly said.

"Y-Yes I understand, My Lord. Thank you." He replied shakily.

"Very well. With Lucius' authority in the Ministry it should be simple to approve a request for the healer's transferal within a few hours. Do not disappoint me, Macnair. Leave."

_-HP-_

7th August

Groggily, he opened his eyes, surprised to not be blinded by bright light. Curiously, he looked around and found he was back in his cell. Sitting up, he saw he had been placed on the bed, the uncomfortable night's sleep was shown by his aching muscles. Sighing, he stood up carefully and glanced briefly at the window, only to stop in shock. The window, or what used to be the window, was now covered completely in the same stone covering the walls. _T-They've covered it up…because of the dementors? _Harry felt his chest tighten at the thought of not seeing the sky every day, something most take for granted. _H-How will I know…how long I've been in here? _The answer was obvious. He wouldn't. The number of scratches in the wall would remain at seven forever. He couldn't trust his body clock to account for the days anymore, not with the blasted encounter with the dementors or the sedative in the hospital. He could sleep in the morning and not know any different. The world turned a little bit bleaker from that point on.

Shivering, Harry recalled his first and hopefully last visit to the hospital. The healer had a pair of incredibly unnerving eyes that seemed slightly mad, too bright. A chill rose in his shoulders as he remembered the frightening man restraining him while the nurse crept closer. _W-What did he mean when he said he would teach me how to behave? I hope I don't have to see him again._

Glancing around, Harry noticed how dark it was now. The torch in the middle of the hallway was his only source of light. Sitting in his corner, Harry mulled over the extreme measures the Ministry had taken to ensure the dementors no longer attacked him. _Though it was probably the easier option for them…rather than change my cell._

For a few hours, he sat in complete silence, trying to hear other signs of life. Just as he was beginning to relax, a door slamming in the distance reached his ears. Then another, closer. Footsteps. Another door slammed.

Harry felt like each second lasted twice as long, the footsteps would surely never come…they would echo endlessly, never quite reaching their intended destination. At last, however, the door to the hallway in which Harry's cell resided opened and shut shortly afterwards. Sitting still and silently, Harry awaited his fate.

Finally, a guard came into view and, briefly glancing at him cautiously, unlocked the cell door. Shock filled him, then relief. _Oh god…am I being released? Have the others found out I am here? _He had begun to rise from his corner when he saw the guard's gaze waver to his right. Harry stilled. A man in bright purple robes entered his vision. Standing in the outline of the now opened cell door, the man smiled at Harry. His long, grey beard and twinkling eyes remained unchanged. Though the rugged, worn boy in the corner had changed too much. His dislike and distrust for the man shown in his viciously green eyes. Frowning, he whispered, his voice croaking slightly.

"Y-You!"

"Hello Harry, my boy. How have you been?"


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the wait, my dear fellows!

Words simply cannot express how much support you, my dear readers have given me. To think I would get so many reviews in only 4 chapters is unbelievable! Therefore, as a show of my appreciation I have made this chapter the longest one yet! Once again I must say thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. Also as I have not yet done so, I would like to thank all the anonymous reviewers whom I, naturally, cannot reply to! Take care.

Oh! One more thing, in this chapter the feeling of 'loneliness' is expressed quite clearly, so I thought I'd name a soundtrack that was perfect for inspiration. Many of you may not have heard of it, it is extremely beautiful and solemn. Check it out! It'd give you an insight into what I wanted the characters to feel. It's called 'Sadness and Sorrow' by Toshiro Masuda. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not, unfortunately, own Harry Potter.

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><p>1…2…3…4…5…6<p>

The seconds passed by in tormented silence. Widened emerald orbs stared across the cell unblinkingly. The boy had long since risen from his corner, though he remained frozen, unable to move a step forward. He felt like a caged animal, oddly comforted by the surrounding bars and fearful of anyone who could possibly take him away.

Compared to the darkness of the cell, Dumbledore's figure seemed to be outlined in the light coming from down the hall. However, he was no pure creature here to save him. _W-Why is he here? _Hesitatingly, the boy eyed the man, waiting for any clear signs of danger. To the stare, the old man simply continued to smile as if to comfort him. Sadly, the boy was beyond being able to trust said smile. To him, it was but a movement, an action. Nothing more. The familiar sensation of being encased in a thick bubble returned. Outer noises disappeared, time seemed to stop. Arms, mouths moved in slow motion. The boy still stared at the alien motions of the headmaster. He felt different, unlike anyone he had ever met. They were all the same, his friends; his former classmates were free, happy. But he was alone, unable to fit in with everyone else. _Will I always…feel this way? _Cold fear gripped his heart, making it feel hollow. This incredibly heavy bundle of emotions weighed him down, suddenly his heart seemed two, three times its normal size. The feeling of loneliness was endless. _Have I always been alone? _Somehow, he thought he had.

Sixteen years ago he had been left at the muggle house, and it didn't take him long to notice how others looked at him, especially his family, despite his age. It always confused him greatly, how he could act, behave, think normally and yet be treated so differently. _Why? _Why, when asking the whale to share a toy like he had seen other children do with their friends, had he been slapped viciously and told to go to his room? The word 'room' was a slight overstatement. Why, when asking for help with homework like the muggle child, had he been told to do it himself and not be so lazy? Why had he been looked upon as if asking too much, when he asked so little? He felt like no one in the world wanted to help him. _Am I so insignificant? _From as early as four years old, he had begun to sink into his loneliness, becoming trapped in it. It was inescapable. The boy's chest ached, longing for comfort, for a companion. How had he come to be so misunderstood? Why would the children at parties always ignore him? And why was he never allowed a party of his own? When he was younger, the boy used to think you gained friends through parties. It made complete sense to his child-like mind. Since he had never had a party, he had never had a friend.

Once, the fat muggle child had injured himself and had to have a few stitches in his lip from falling over clumsily and catching his mouth on the edge of a table. Of course, the whale was spoilt rotten by his parents whereas the small, raven-haired child was punished for causing the other to fall. A week after the incident, their classmates stared in awe at his small scar, oblivious to the green-eyed boy at the back of the class with a larger, stranger scar.

As he stood tall in his cold cell, the sense of abandonment and loneliness echoed inside and all around him like a solemn piano note that gently fades into oblivion. His childhood hideout used to be the park. On a sunny, cloudless day he would play on the swings, and if he was lucky and the sun was in the right position, the boy's shadow on the ground would look like it was sat beside him on the shadow of the other swing.

"Harry, my boy, can you hear me?"

Startled, the boy named Harry blinked. The memories of his childhood were not pleasant and were best left alone. Shaking his head a little, Harry glanced at the door where Dumbledore had remained standing throughout his brief moment of absence. Seeing Harry's eyes regain their ice-like clarity, the old man continued.

"Ah, I hope your thoughts aren't giving you too much trouble now. I daresay you've had enough time to hear them. You know, my boy, without your glasses, you hardly look yourself!" He chuckled lightly, as if expecting an equally humorous reaction from the stoic boy across from him. _M-My glasses? _Shakily, Harry reached up to feel for the usual pressure against his ears and nose. To his shock, there was none, yet he could see perfectly! Frowning, he shook his hand in front of his face. _Clear! S-So clear. But why…? _The question never left his lips though as Dumbledore, frowning slightly, carried on, despite the lack of a response.

"I thought I'd give you time to settle in before coming to visit you." Silence. "My boy-"

Green eyes that had been impassively staring to his left instantly became a shade brighter, almost like a light had turned on. All previous questions forgotten, Harry furiously turned his eyes to glare at the headmaster.

"I am not your boy!" He spat, then suddenly quietened, struggling to understand where his outburst had come from, as only a moment ago he thought he could still control his own emotions.

Dumbledore looked troubled at the boy's outcry and began to step into the room, all the while the guard remained outside, ready to restrain the boy at a second's notice.

"Dear boy, I am sorry if I have-" He started.

"STAY BACK!" Harry cried desperately, eyes wide like a mad man. He felt panic searing throughout his chest, unable to stop the mortifying images of the dangerous muggle man from appearing in front of his eyes. Dumbledore instantly stopped, unnerved by the mad glint in Harry's eyes.

Said person stood trembling, both hands thrown out in front of him. His mouth was open in a slight snarl, showing his teeth that were clenched tightly. His eyes shone in barely masked fright. His body, though scarred, remained in one piece. His mind, his soul, on the other hand, was beginning to show the effects of the torment he has been suffering from for all these years. Faint cracks began to stretch along the surface of his last defence against his flood of emotions. _For years I have held them in…I'm not about to let them go now, least of all in front of him!_

"Please, Harry. I am only trying to help you."

_Liar._

"What do you want?" The boy whispered, making sure his voice did not waver.

"I'm here to talk, Harry. That is all. I've been worried about you." He soothingly said, ever so calm.

"I don't – don't want to hear what you have to say. Not after-" The boy's voice shook, despite his efforts.

"Harry, please listen to me. I know the outcome of the trial was far harsher than either of us anticipated, but we must not forget the pressure the war has put on us all."

"The war? The war? I'M THE ONE VOLDEMORT IS AFTER! I've had to face him many times…and this is how you repay me? BY LOCKING ME UP IN AZKABAN? FOR PROTECTING MYSELF! N-Never before have I intentionally h-hurt anyone…was this what you were all waiting for? For me to mess up? For a chance to get at famous Harry Potter?" Harry shook under the strain of his emotions. "I don't understand…why this is happening. Why me? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?"

"Harry-"

"Oh yes! Please tell me, great Albus Dumbledore!" Harry laughed abruptly, gripping his head with one hand as a throb of pain hit his head.

"I know this seems very surreal to you, Harry. But you must remain strong and trust me."

"T-Trust you? Do you even remember what happened? I told you everything…and you dared to spit it back in my face in court by saying it was all lies? That I was delusional? I'm not mad Dumbledore! I know what happened – what that man did. So why? Why did you lie?" Harry asked, desperately trying to understand why his mentor, the only man he had ever fully looked up to and trusted, could betray him so easily and at the most vital part in his life so far. It never occurred to him before to distrust the wise man. So many looked in awe upon the kind man, he was so caring. That's what hurt him the most. If a man like Dumbledore could betray your trust, then there truly was no hope for the world of today.

Was he so damned that he must live a life of suspicion and doubt?

"I have always only wanted to protect you, dear boy. You truly are like a son to me."

"ANSWER ME! It's too late for lines like that! Far too late." Harry shouted, holding back tears.

Throughout the conversation, Dumbledore's face became sadder, graver, and more resolute. As if he was a parent looking down at a misbehaving child.

"Harry, are you forgetting your own actions? The very actions that caused such distress on that day?"

"N-No of course not-"

"Such actions I never thought possible from you, dear boy. What could I have done, what would everyone think…if I had saved a murderer? Do you not see? My hands were tied! I could do nothing."

Guilt unwillingly tore through him at the man's ashamed words. _How could I have spoken to him like that? _

"W-Why won't you listen-"

"No my boy. You must listen to me now. I'm sorry. I told you that I would protect you, and I have, to the best of my abilities. I pleaded with Cornelius to spare you from the dementor's kiss. Dear boy, without me you would have been dead long ago! But I understand why you feel betrayed. Now can you see why I had to act the way I did? I'm terribly sorry to have hurt you so, Harry. It was not my intention, believe me." Dumbledore said solemnly, leaving the boy torn.

"I-I…" _What can I say? I-Is this true? Have I really…been so stupid? _"No matter what you may have done, I am still stuck here for life! For a crime committed in self-defence! I'm better off dead than here, waiting for Voldemort to kill me!"

Dumbledore immediately appeared anxious. Sternly looking at Harry, he inquired.

"Have you had any strange dreams lately, Harry? Has your scar been hurting at all?"

He was back in Hogwarts, standing at the desk of his headmaster, returning a smile at the man. He was answering any questions thrown at him readily, easily. _He will help me. _He always felt lighter after talking to the man, as if all the troubles he was carrying had suddenly lifted, leaving him with a mild floating , Harry had to remind himself that he was not at Hogwarts, that the Dumbledore he knew was gone. _Did he even exist? This man before me…what does he want? _The memories of his past years at Hogwarts…were too happy. His smiles, laughs…all seemed alien to him now. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed joyously…smiled with light-heartedness. The memories he had treasured for so long…were difficult to recall now. Though not with forgetfulness, merely because they brought him only pain.

"I've nothing more to say to you, Dumbledore. P-Please leave." And with that, Harry turned around to look at the part of the wall which used to hold his barred window, missing the cold glint in the man's eyes and his frown which promised of trouble ahead.

"I see you are not yet ready to talk to me, my boy. Very well. I will visit again soon. Take care, Harry." As Dumbledore began to walk out of the room his frown deepened and his eyebrows lowered, making him unrecognizable to any who knew him best. Such a face was so unfamiliar on the usually kind, smiling old man. Like a doppelganger, this man was the complete opposite of the original. He was twisted, dangerous and very displeased.

After the area had become deathly silent, the pale boy lowered himself to sit on the cold floor. His lip was trembling minutely and his watery eyes began to dim and close. _What is happening? What do I do? Who do I trust? Who can I trust? Is there anyone…who can help me?_

Shaking, his hands grabbed either side of his head painfully. Scrunching up his eyes, Harry tried to ignore the blinding pain in his head. _Ahh!...I-It's that time again…feeding time. _And feeding time it was, but not for the poor inmates who shook heavily in their icy cold cells. Many times up to ten dementors had floated outside his cell window, desperately wanting to taste the painful past of the tortured boy. They were not allowed to kill the prisoners, not in body anyway. Once every night the dementors would swarm around the walls, hugging them in their attempts to harvest a quick meal. They had their favourites, unfortunately enough for Harry. He wondered how they were managing without him…without their favourite _snack._ Even though the window had been sealed, his mother's cries told him that the dementor's knew exactly where he was and were not too fond of the idea of being without their little treat.

"_HARRY!"_

Her cries seemed to carry a veiled threat, that the dementors knew Harry was there and that it would be only a matter of time before they could get to him.

"_HARRY! HARRY!"_

His head was now pressed against his knees, hands still against the sides of his head.

"I'm here…I'm here…I-I'm here." Harry whispered. Suddenly, it became all too much for the boy. His chest began to shake with muffled sobs; his throat throbbed, forcing him to swallow. Tears finally broke free to fall down his face and his mouth opened to voice his cries. Together he and his mother cried in pain, both having to relive their worst memories. For hours they howled, while the many dementors swarming outside promised a long, sleepless night.

_-HP-_

7th August

A cold, hard voice filled the air, doing nothing to comfort the many cloaked figures.

"For almost a week, Macnair has been infiltrating Azkaban through the guise of one Alexander Galen, a healer. It was in Azkaban a few days after his arrival, that he came upon one young boy in the Hospital wing. Harry Potter." A few Death Eaters released a foolish grin at their master's words whilst other, more daring; Death Eaters began to laugh quietly.

"Silence! Have you forgotten the meddlesome old fool? Do you think he is so stupid as to have completely lost track of the boy? No. He will also be on his trail. This prisoner could be nothing more than a trap set by the old coot. As I have told you before, this mission needs to be handled with caution. I will not hesitate to punish any foolish, rash actions." The Death Eaters paled at the Dark Lord's tone, all traces of joy and success gone from their faces.

"Nevertheless, you have done well, Macnair." Voldemort said silkily.

The towering figure of the man stood confidently at the head of the table, like a King overlooking his subjects. The addressed follower raised his eyes to meet the Dark Lord's striking crimson ones. His red eyes shined, horrifyingly resembling blood, as if they were a window to not only his blood-soaked soul, but also to the many innocents he had killed and ordered to be killed. At meeting the intimidating gaze, Macnair spoke.

"Thank you, My Lord." Though in another second, the Death Eater lowered his eyes from the scorching gaze.

"Now, to determine whether he is Harry Potter or not, you will arrange meetings with our little prisoner, Macnair."

"B-But My Lord, how will I know…if he is really Harry Potter?" Macnair hesitatingly asked, cowering as if expecting the Dark Lord's reply to come in the form of a notorious red curse.

Though at his question, Voldemort merely glanced at him briefly before replying.

"I doubt you, or the boy, will have much patience for a reflective talk of the past." A smirk. "So I suggest you treat him to a dose of Veritaserum and then 'Obliviate' him afterwards. Do not be seen, Macnair." Voldemort warned.

"I won't, thank you, My Lord." Macnair replied, thankful of the instructions easily produced by the Dark Lord.

"Very well, it seems as if all present issues have been addressed. You may all leave, all except you, Macnair."

Once the room had quickly emptied, Voldemort turned his gaze onto the now slightly nervous Death Eater. His gaze remained on the man, who was staring at the table, attempting to hide his fear. To this, the Dark Lord only smirked, enjoying sensing the fright coming from his loyal follower.

"There is no need to fret, Macnair. I merely wish to obtain the memory of your introduction with the boy." The Dark Lord retrieved a small glass vial from his black robes and began to slowly walk towards Macnair, like an oncoming nightmare, a shadow that you are unable to escape.

"You may rise."

At his orders, Macnair dutifully stood, his eyes still glued to the well-polished table. No further instructions had to be given, and any refusal would ensure a very quick death. Voldemort, now stood directly at the side of Macnair, raised the vial so it was the same height as the Death Eater's chin. Macnair raised his wand and gently touched the side of his head. After a few seconds of it being kept against his temple, the wand was withdrawn slowly to reveal a long, thin, wispy, silver-like strand that swayed slightly as if being subjected to a light breeze. The Death Eater then lowered his wand, which the silvery-white substance was attached to, and placed the substance into the vial offered. The Dark Lord then glanced at Macnair once more.

"Good. I will be expecting your reports within a few days. Do not disappoint me. Now, leave." Voldemort said briefly, handing a small vial of the truth potion to Macnair before leaving the room through another set of doors.

Once out of the drawing room, Voldemort entered a long, elegant hallway panelled in deep, polished oak of a dark-brown colour. Various portraits sat against each wall, all expensively bordered in a thin silver frame that was complimentary of the portraits in that they emphasized the pale, aristocratic figures within them. The Dark Lord moved quickly down the passage, uninterested in the beautiful décor of the Manor, his gaze remained fixed in front of him, his almost-silent feet echoing quietly against the cold stone floor. In the middle of the corridor were a striking set of grey marble staircases, and on either side of them were two wooden doors, equally spaced apart. At the top of the staircases was an arched window which allowed a view of the lovely garden below. It was very bright and colourful, with flowers of almost every colour. The only objects capable of outshining such fragile beauty were the few peacocks that strutted about graciously. Turning right from the window, the snake-like man stopped at a pair of wooden doors. The doors themselves were incredibly detailed, more so than the others, and if one looked closely the image of a long snake could be distinguished along the outlines of each door. From the far corners of the doors, where their heads lay tilted to face the rest of the door, to the very bottom, the snakes stretched leisurely. A much smaller snake was also etched in the long, thin handle of both doors.

Voldemort did not pause for long, grasping a handle with one hand, he hissed quietly in the language of his Slytherin ancestors, Parseltongue.

"Open to me."

As soon as the last hiss had passed his slightly reptilian features, both of the long snakes around the door began to slither clockwise, until they returned to their rightful positions. A small 'click!' resounded and at that, Voldemort opened the door and stepped inside. Once shut, the doors could only be opened from outside with the same snake language, the same phrase, whereas the doors could be opened normally from the inside. Beyond the doors was the right wing of the second floor of Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord's private quarters.

Entering a door to the left, Voldemort walked straight to a cabinet at the far right side of the room. It wasn't a very large room, and was mostly covered with ceiling-high bookcases on the left and right walls. At the end was a large window that was framed with dark green curtains reaching the ground. A wooden desk sat in front of the window, whilst the tall chair had its back to any distractions from the outside. On the desk were various neatly-stacked books, a pile of parchment and a quill resting next to a bottle of ink. After unlocking the cabinet, the man retrieved a stone basin. It was quite shallow and had numerous old carvings of runes and symbols around the edge of it. This, he carefully placed on the table. The Pensieve cast an eerie silver-white glow around the dark room from the silvery substance swirling inside it. The Dark Lord held the glass vial containing the same strange substance and emptied it into the basin. For a second, he stood contemplating the memory as it circled around freely, though his expression remained as blank as a statue.

Suddenly, he plunged his head into the water and abruptly Malfoy Manor, his private quarters, all began to lurch violently. He was falling; however his face portrayed no surprise, shock or fear at the revelation. Instead it conveyed a sense of indifference as if he was witnessing something so normal, so commonplace, such as a car passing by or a bird passing through the open skies.

As his feet softly touched the floor, the Dark Lord blinked, quickly becoming accustomed to the stark white walls and floor. Two voices could be distinctly heard outside the room and Voldemort, not one for hesitation or cowardice, immediately walked to the door to listen carefully.

"But surely you must be able to persuade them, healer." A woman said, her tone hinted at the seriousness of the situation.

"No we have been given strict orders by the Ministry, Potter-" Voldemort's eyes widened at the use of the boy's name. _Could it be?_ "-must remain in that cell." A man said, both voices remaining unfamiliar to Voldemort.

"Please, you can see as well as I that he is greatly affected by the dementors."

"I will send for the guards, we have no choice but to seal up his window. That way, he will be relatively safe from them."

A pair of footsteps began to grow distant. Before the two had even finished speaking the Dark Lord had begun to look around the room, naturally used for a more medical purpose, trying to locate the boy. He stopped. Red eyes gleamed at a young, thin boy with black hair and pale skin. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, _though if this is indeed the boy, the Ministry probably wanted him to look as different as possible, perhaps an eye correction charm? _

"Harry…" He hissed, unaware he had taken a few steps towards the sleeping child. Frowning, Voldemort eyed the straps covering the boy's limbs, assessing him as hardly a big enough threat to warrant such bindings. Gazing over the child's body, he saw the bandages covering his left arm. Grinning, Voldemort thought, _if this is Potter…he certainly does have a tendency to need medical attention. _Leaning over the boy, he examined his face minutely, his face inches away from the boy's own. His spider-like hand reached forward, hovering above the child's face while Voldemort gazed at him in keen interest, unblinking in all his concentration. Slowly, he pressed one finger on the boy's forehead, where the scar lay, yet although it was covered up by his dark, greasy hair, the Dark Lord also couldn't physically touch the boy, as he was merely a watcher of the past, he was only an invisible presence that couldn't be heard or seen by anyone. _Pity…_So were his thoughts mere seconds ago, but as sharp, green eyes flew open, only to immediately shut again, Voldemort felt excitement stir within him at the boy's rise. _Yes, that's it…_The 's' in each word was elongated, much like a snake's hiss, to fully show his growing pleasure.

With amusement, Voldemort watched the boy glance around his surroundings. Stepping back as the prisoner began to rise, or attempt to, the Dark Lord remained closely to the boy's right side, eagerly assessing each emotion expressed on his troubled face. With delight, Voldemort watched the child struggle against his restraints until, to his annoyance, a woman entered through the door.

"Mr Potter, is it?" She asked, causing Voldemort to glance sharply back at the now coughing boy with narrowed eyes. _These people are under direct orders from the Ministry. Could it be that they too have no idea of the possibility that this Potter is a fake? The idea…seems to be quite ridiculous. _He continued to watch their conversation, closely noting the boy's submissive state of mind. _If he is Potter…it shouldn't be too difficult catching him, in the state he is in._

Leaning further towards the boy, Voldemort saw the harsh bruises against his skin. The boy did indeed look very weak, resembling a Hufflepuff more than a courageous Gryffindor. As the nurse began to draw the curtain around them, Voldemort humorously wondered if she would be as willing to do such a thing if his presence was known and seen. Turning towards the boy again, he was surprised to meet the bare back of said boy, though the shock of the sight of his back was dismissed as his red orbs roamed over the boy's many scars. Most of them were slashes, long, neat lines that covered large parts of his back. Other, smaller cuts were amongst them, some strangely shaped, as if something had raked across the skin. But one scar caught his eyes. Boldly etched into the left shoulder blade of the boy at an angle, was the single word "FREAK". _Could this really be…anyone other than Potter? _

Hatred and rage boiled throughout his veins at the memories of his own merciless childhood at the damned orphanage. Frequently those pitiful muggle children had called him, chanting "Freak, freak, freak." For years he was bullied by those lesser beings merely because he demonstrated gifts their foolish minds could not comprehend. It was no mystery why he had grown up without any…friends to rely on. His acquaintances were controlled with fear, fear of the unknown, fear of his power. It was the only method that instilled absolute loyalty and obedience. The promise of another was so easily, and so often, broken. He would not be considered lesser than anyone ever again. That he vowed to himself on the day he murdered his muggle father and grandparents. To think they would plead forgiveness…like so many others, when he himself was not forgiven as a child. He would show no pity towards those who would show him none. _An eye for an eye, after all._

Snapping out of his sentimental musings, Voldemort saw the boy had changed into a prison uniform that was unfortunately too large for him.

"I-If every inmate has one, then why haven't I been made to take a mug shot too?" The boy inquired.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. _Hmm, so he isn't completely obeying…he still has questions. Good, very good. It seems he hasn't been fully moulded by Azkaban yet. Still…to break Ministry regulations for a single boy…_ Voldemort pondered while watching the nurse retort easily, almost without hesitation, as if an actress simply reciting her memorised lines.

"Is that what the Ministry told you?" The boy dared to say, with venom.

Releasing a grin, the Dark Lord chuckled quietly, not expecting the hateful way the child spoke of the Ministry. _Very promising…if only I knew you were the real one. It is a shame he is in here, I would have been glad to welcome the young boy into my ranks had he been anyone else. Somehow, I don't believe Potter would be too appreciative of being a mere Death Eater._

The conversation ended as the door opened once again to welcome a tall man with dark brown hair. _Ah…there you are, Macnair. _The disguised Death Eater approached the two, his happiness at finding the boy clearly visible in his wide eyes and blinding smile. Voldemort saw, with a growing grin, that the boy seemed hesitant to acknowledge the newly introduced man, even going so far as to narrow his eyes. Chuckling quietly, the Dark Lord thought, _Macnair has certainly met his match here…this child isn't so fooled by outward appearances. _Though the snake-like man frowned as he watched Macnair's all-too-eager interactions with the boy. _If there had been anyone else in the room, his cover might have been blown. _His growing anger at the Death Eater's inadequate performance subsided for the moment as he noticed Macnair arranging further meetings with the mysterious child. _Ah, it seems as if all is not lost. Perhaps he is learning._

The Dark Lord had never been sent to Azkaban, had never been weak enough to allow himself to get caught, so it was with mild surprise that he watched the Death Eater restrain the boy whilst the nurse administered the sedative, knocking the boy unconscious within a few seconds. _With the treatment here…it would be all too easy to pry the boy from here, rather, he would be foolish to resist._

As Voldemort recalled the boy's fears, the resentment towards the Ministry, the weakness of the child, the horrific treatment of the boy as well as himself at the hands of the muggles, he couldn't help but release a grin whilst lurching backwards, out of the basin and back into his study. His shoulders began to shake with barely supressed delight, before long he let out a quiet chuckle which steadily grew louder. Louder. Louder. Until the Dark Lord Voldemort was uncontrollably laughing. His glee shown as his monstrous cackling continued and echoed throughout the entire second floor.

_-HP-_

8th August

After the terrible conversation with the old headmaster, Harry felt more drained than he'd like to admit. Why, not even a year ago a discussion with Dumbledore would have eased most of his worries, not encourage and create them. He lay quietly where he had stood, his eyes blankly gazing at the wall ahead of him. His tears had long dried on his pasty white skin, his swollen eyes were red from his crying, and his shivering arms stiffly clutched his hair.

The next morning was a silent one. His soft breathing filled the stagnant air, whilst Harry listened intently for the far away cries of other inmates, but he never heard them. It felt like he was stored away somewhere, somewhere secret and hidden. The thought was incredibly lonely.

A door slammed in the distance. He held his breath…Another. Closer. _Oh no…oh no! Is he back already? How long has it been? Please don't come here…not here! _As a pair of footsteps entered his field of sound, his breath began to come out in pants. The final door opened, he had started to silently cry again and futilely he covered his eyes with his hands, wishing more than anything that this wasn't real. Even as the footsteps stopped outside his cell, Harry made no move to turn around and face his unwelcome visitor, afraid it was indeed Dumbledore. To his surprise, the figure didn't utter a sound, and a sharp jingle of keys clashing against each other filled the room. _They're unlocking the door…_In another second, his cell door was opened and a rough tug on his upper arm forced him to stand. Harry stumbled, his shaking legs unprepared for the hurried movement. Whipping his head around, he saw an ordinary man in a light grey uniform, unfazed by the boy's tears. _A guard? But why is he-_

"Come on Potter, I'm here to take you to the hospital for a check-up." He had a calm, relatively friendly voice which was quite reassuring to the shaken boy.

"A-A check-up?" Harry questioned in confusion.

"Azkaban rules, kid." He said.

Without further interruption, Harry was led to the hospital, where he had recently been to heal his left arm. As he had been unconscious when he had first been taken there, Harry had no idea where the hospital actually was. To get to it, they walked about halfway down the enormous stone spiral staircase and into the single door, which led to a rather small hallway with white doors on either side. There were no cells in this part of the building, so Harry could only assume it was because this was an area mainly for staff. The walls and floors were still covered in the same abysmal stone and the only decorations in sight were the metal brackets that held their torches, the only sources of light. Most of the doors had small bronze plaques on them with the names of various people, these they both passed until they had reached the end of the hall. One white door stood on its own, the plaque on its door read:

_Hospital_

All of a sudden, Harry was anxious to enter, not wanting to see that particular man again. The guard, unaware of the boy's insecurities, opened the door, dragging Harry in with him.

It was just as he remembered, almost ugly in its plainness. A movement to their right caught both of their attention.

"Ah, thank you very much for dropping off Mr Potter. A routine check-up, was it? Yes, yes, come along now Mr Potter." The kind, teasing tone of the man's voice confirmed his fears. That man…that healer…was here. Harry resisted the urge to hide behind the guard as he was passed to the healer, like a young child. Harry thought about struggling, but the man's tightened hold on his upper arms warned him of the undesirable consequences. Therefore, despite his instincts he remained in the creature's hold, unmoving. The subtle threat of the healer's remained unnoticed by the ever-watchful guard.

"Alright, well if that's everything…" The guard started, leaving the conversation open in case the healer requested any assistance.

"Yes, that will be all. Thank you once again. I will send for a guard once we have finished." The healer said, smiling.

Nodding once, the guard exited the room, leaving the two of them in an uncomfortable silence.

"Where is the nurse?" Harry asked. Although he didn't want to establish any sort of connection with the man, clear with his blunt, short question, he wanted someone else to be present with them.

"Ah there's no need to worry about her, boy, she won't be needed today."

At once, the healer began to drag Harry to the door. In his puzzlement, the boy allowed himself to be dragged along.

"Now, we will be going to my office so we won't be disturbed." The man explained.

"B-But I thought I was just getting a check-up?"

"You are, but first I need to ask you a few questions, and I'd rather we weren't interrupted by anyone."

They stopped at a door on the right, close to the hospital. On the door was a plaque similar to many of the others, though this one read:

_Healer-in-charge_

_Alexander Galen_

Once shut, Harry turned to face the healer defiantly, however his fear was easy to see in his eyes.

"What questions?"

A sly smirk appeared on the man at the boy's blunt tone. The slight cheek of the child caused him to narrow his eyes in excitement.

"That glint in your eyes…you've quite a rebellious side haven't you, boy?"

Harry stood stunned for a moment by the man. The sense of familiarity was present in his words.

"W-What questions?" He refused to back down to this man. This man who, for all he could remember, he had never met.

"Just a few routine questions. Now, kindly take your seat-" He gestured to a chair in front of a shiny desk, whilst he himself headed over to the chair on the opposite side. "-and then we can begin. I'm waiting." He, already sitting, stared across at the hesitant boy.

Harry did not like this, at all. _What other questions could he ask me? _Reluctantly, he slowly headed towards the chair. Once seated, the man smiled.

"Good. First question, what is your name?" He started, leaning forward in his chair.

Harry, startled at the man's actions, leaned further back in his own chair. _Why is he asking me this? _

"You already know my name…" Harry said, not wanting to waste any more time.

"Your name, now." The man simply said, though his light tone didn't soften the threat in the slightest.

Blinking, Harry though it best to answer him.

"Harry Potter."

"Date of birth?"

"31st July-"

"Parents?" The healer interrupted suddenly.

Harry's eyes widened in unjustified anger. The subject of his parents was always a sensitive one, increasingly so in the presence of a stranger in a prison. For days he had been forced to listen to his parents die over and over and over. To put it simply, he didn't want to discuss them. But now, this man whom he hardly knew dared to question him about something so personal as his own mother and father?

"Why do I have to answer these questions? What's the point?" Harry asked in frustration, rising out of his chair to emphasize his annoyance.

Only, once he had begun to rise, the healer quickly raised his wand and aimed it at Harry's chair effortlessly, as if anticipating such a move from the distressed boy. Thin leather straps suddenly wound their way around the defenceless boy, binding his limbs to the chair. One second, he was being restrained in the chair, his anger still scrunching up his features, the next he was opening his mouth to scream. Unfortunately, the healer was one step ahead of him again and instantly placed a silencing charm around the whole room, ensuring they would not be heard, as well as magically locking the door. He rose silently, watching as the boy screamed in vain.

"HELP ME! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME! HELP!"

The man laughed slowly, his kind and caring persona finally disappearing.

"No one's coming, boy. It's just you and me. Now, let's find out who you really are." He turned his attention to his desk drawers and began to search through them.

"But I've told you who I am! W-What do you want?" Harry cried, hating for that moment not being able to understand the man's intentions.

At last the man retrieved a small glass vial of clear liquid and looked into the boy's face with delight.

Recognising the potion instantly from the terrible incidents of his fifth year after Voldemort's return, Harry paled and struggled. _But what does he want to know? I don't have any important information! _This treatment he had expected of his enemies before his long, slow, painful death, but not of a prison healer. _Isn't this illegal?_

The man stalked towards Harry, then leaned over him menacingly.

"No! No! What-what do you want? I don't know anything!" Rightfully, Harry was terrified. If the man's presence alone wasn't frightening enough, then being tied down with him overlooking you certainly was!

"I need to know your real name. So open wide." He grinned.

"B-But you know it! I've already told you!" Harry struggled.

The man stretched out his left hand, his free hand, reaching for the scared boy. Shaking his head, Harry leaned his neck further away from the man. Unable to control his anticipation, the man reached to grab the top of Harry's head. Narrowing his eyes, Harry watched as the man made his move, then abruptly lunged forward (as much as the straps would allow) and, with all the force he could muster, sank his teeth into the healer's hand. He plunged his teeth as deep as he could whilst the man hissed slightly in pain. However the man cast a quick stinging hex to shock the boy, making him release his savage grip. With his left hand, the healer swiftly backhanded the boy in rage, leaving a bright red impression on Harry's left cheek. With satisfaction, the boy eyed the small trail of blood on the man's hand. Alas, the joy was outlived as the man suddenly roughly grabbed Harry's head, causing the boy to wince painfully. The man's fist was holding on to Harry's hair whilst he pulled the boy's head backwards, restricting any sudden movement. With his left hand occupied, the man opened the top of the vial and lifted it to the boy's mouth using his right hand. But Harry's lips stubbornly refused to open, his determination overtaking his terror for the moment. Harry was frightened of what he may know – without actually knowing it himself. To Harry's actions, the man only sighed. Then he sharply pulled on the boy's hair. The piercing pain resonated through his scalp, causing him to gasp for a second. However a second was all the man needed. Working quickly, he placed the vial partly in the boy's mouth, stopping the child from closing it. Carefully, he tipped the vial until three drops had fallen down Harry's throat. Satisfied, he released the boy and stood up.

"Now, tell me your real name." He ordered.

The liquid passing down Harry's throat filled him with dread. Then suddenly he stopped, remaining completely still. He could think – he could still think. His face became passive, his eyes blank, like a doll. An otherwise lifeless doll, apart from his rapid thoughts and his peacefully blinking eyelids. His usually striking, powerful Avada Kedavra eyes were unfocused and dull, like he had been drugged. _I suppose in this case…I have been._

His mouth began to unwillingly move at the man's question, though his voice was not his own. It sounded emotionless and dead to his ears.

"Harry James Potter." He stated.

Due to his unresponsive state, he failed to notice the man's gasp of disbelief or his impossibly wide grin.

"Why are you here?"

Thoughtlessly he continued to speak, despite his own wishes.

"I was sentenced to life in Azkaban by the Minister, Fudge, for murdering my remaining three muggle relatives."

"And did you really kill them?" He asked curiously, unable to believe the Boy-Who-Lived, the child of the Light…could be so Dark.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They killed my owl, have abused and starved me for years and my Uncle raped me."

"Did you enjoy killing them?" The sadistic Death Eater grinned, pleased at the outcome of his mission.

"I enjoyed hurting them, like they hurt me. My Uncle and cousin deserved it. My Aunt wasn't as bad as them, but she didn't stop them."

"Does Dumbledore know you are here?"

"Yes, he was at the trial. He visited me today."

"What did he want?"

"To help me. To see if I was okay"

"And you trust him?"

"I used to, but now I don't know who to trust. Everyone has lied to me."

After asking all the questions he could think of that would aid his master, Lord Voldemort, Macnair waited for the effects of the truth potion to wear off. As he saw Harry's eyes begin to clear, he immediately said, 'Obliviate!' the blast of which resulted in knocking the boy unconscious. Removing all the spells in the room, the man levitated the boy and, after establishing no one was in the corridor, entered the hospital and placed Harry on one of the hospital beds. His job completed cleanly, the healer sent for the guards to collect and return Harry to his cell, before swiftly heading to Malfoy Manor to inform the Dark Lord of his most promising discovery.

_-HP-_

The sun sank peacefully, gracefully into the golden fields of the 8th of August. Inside a singular, slightly crooked house, a family of six sat troubled at a long, worn wooden table, whilst a single guest stood beside it, all concentrating on the current topic of one Boy-Who-Lived.

"I can't take it – Oh Arthur I can't – Is he alright? Oh why on Earth can't I see him with my own eyes! I can't sleep – I worry for that boy, I really do!" Molly Weasley stated, on the verge of tears, in the comforting embrace of her husband, Arthur Weasley.

"I know dear, I know. We are all worried for Harry, but Dumbledore knows best. We just have to be patient and let Harry rest." Arthur replied, trying to reassure his distraught wife.

"But it's been over a week now, Arthur! I don't know what I'll do if we can't see him soon! It's driving me crazy-" Molly shook in the arms of her husband, their children and guest averting their equally troubling gazes, lost in their own worries.

"But Dad, Harry's been away for more than a week! We should be able to visit him now, so why can't we-" Ron, the youngest of the sons in the Weasley family, said in confusion. There were small nods of agreement by the Weasley twins, Fred and George, and by the youngest Weasley, Ginny.

"Now Ron, I'm sure Dumbledore has a good reason for not letting us see Harry. What if we went and made things worse for Harry? That wouldn't help anyone. He has been through enough in this past week." Arthur said to his son sternly, tired of hearing his son's reasonable frustrations countless times.

"Do you think it is serious? It's unlike Dumbledore to act this way." Lupin, an old, close friend of the late James Potter, Harry's father, said. He had been Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in the boy's third year. Lupin had wished to spend more time with Harry but, after the fact that he was a werewolf had been leaked to the parents of the students at Hogwarts, he had felt the need to resign and avoid any conflict that would arise and trouble the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Lupin had a lot of respect for the man, but was still troubled at his refusal of their wish to see the injured boy. Surely the kind, happy boy would not refuse to see them?

"I just don't know. I hope Harry's alright." Arthur replied.

"Has anyone seen Dumbledore at all?" Lupin inquired to the silent, frowning figures at the table.

"No. I haven't seen him since the last meeting." Arthur confessed.

His eyes showed his earnest reply, leaving everyone even more troubled than before.

"What shall we do, Arthur? We must see him!" Molly spoke urgently, her maternal instincts wanting to see and care for the poor boy.

"We…can do nothing until Dumbledore says, Molly dear. You know this. We'll see Harry soon, I promise." Arthur assured his wife, though the words registered to everyone.

"I don't like it. Not one bit." Lupin muttered suddenly.

"Neither do I, Remus." Arthur said in frustration.

The seven of them remained silent for a moment, engrossed in their voiced worries for the safety of one Harry James Potter. After a minute, Remus Lupin bid them all a good night, not in the least reassured by his troubled visit to the Burrow. The slowly setting sun foretold of the cold night to come…and of the darkening fate awaiting a certain Chosen One.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello once again my dear fellows! Thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourited and alerted this story! I realise it has taken awhile for me to update. For some reason I was finding it rather hard to write this chapter, worryingly so even. I hope I find the next easier to write, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Take care.

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><p>9th August<p>

In a secluded part of Malfoy Manor all was quiet. The hallway was empty, save for a couple of portraits lining the walls. In a room to the left, many bookcases covered the walls. A large window sat across from the door and outside the looming silhouettes of various trees swayed in the soft breeze of the night. The moon was complete and at its full height, casting an eerie glow into the otherwise dark room. Apart from the trees, everything else was still. The thousands of books resting in their wooden shelves, the dry, long, black quill lying on the desk, even the floor-length emerald curtains remained immobile, whilst through a few inches of stone, brick and glass, the objects outside were forced to survive nature's onslaught, thrashing wildly with all the determination they could muster. Inside the silent room, everything was frozen, everything but one lone figure, who sat with his back to the window, gazing intently at the wooden desk. His eager face was shadowed in the darkness of the room, but his excitement was clear in his gleaming, crimson eyes that now gazed hungrily at the stone Pensieve which lay on the desk in front of him.

Moving closer to the stone basin, swirls of light began to run across his ashen-pale face, reflecting the silvery-white glow emanating from within the Pensieve. Quickly he raised his right hand, his fist was clenched and in its constricting grip was a vial containing the same glowing substance. Once emptied into the basin, the black-cloaked man slowly lowered his face into the water. At once he began to lurch, and his head started to sink deeper into the bowels of the Pensieve. Suddenly, his whole body was dragged into the water, as he swiftly travelled to the location of Macnair's latest memory. In another second, he was back in the hospital of Azkaban, his red eyes glancing around for any subtle signs of potential interest.

Standing, he narrowed his eyes minutely at the distinct lack of either Macnair's or the boy's presence. As if in answer to his annoyance, the door to the hospital opened, causing Voldemort to quickly turn his body towards it. Framed in the plain white door was a painfully average man, a guard, dressed in a dull grey uniform. His eyes held the spark of determination to complete the orders he was given. To his left, a pale, thin boy in a black and white striped prison uniform stood. His dull green eyes devoid of such a spark.

Unable to stop the small smirk from gracing his features due to the boy's appearance, Voldemort gazed keenly at the prisoner, easily distinguishing the fear in his eyes. The Dark Lord's hands twitched slightly, his long, slender fingers wishing to reach out and grasp said boy. Almost teasingly, the guard led the boy to him, until they were both standing a mere inch from him. Voldemort's powerful and menacing aura remained undetected, this time in the past holding no place for such a man as he. Ignoring the guard's plain presence, Voldemort lowered his head so he was eye-level with the raven-haired boy. The boy's hands were shaking, his lip was trembling. This, Voldemort observed with incredible interest, like a scientist viewing his experiments, eagerly awaiting the results. The boy's eyes however, were his main focus. They were almost narrowed, but he could easily note the masked fear, no matter how hard the young boy tried to hide it with his fake bravery. As a voice to his left spoke, Voldemort's own blood-red orbs widened in unexpected delight as the green eyes before him widened in fear. _Macnair…At last you have arrived. Now if only the guard would be so kind as to leave…_

"Alright, well if that's everything…" The guard said, causing Voldemort to grin in pleasure.

As soon as the door closed, the Dark Lord noticed a visible reaction from the uneasy boy. His fists had clenched, his eyes had darted across the room, revealing how the situation he had been placed in was affecting him. Almost like the door slamming shut referred to his extinguished hopes of any sort of escape. Curiously, Voldemort watched the interactions between Macnair and the prisoner. He was pleased to see the boy held as much resentment and distrust, if not more, for the Death Eater. _The boy has a faint Gryffindor streak in him. Very stubborn. _

"Where is the nurse?" _Ah that voice. So young, so fearful._

Grinning, Voldemort realised why the boy had quickly looked around the room. _Not for escape, _he gladly thought, _but for another. Someone to guard him against this…threatening man. This boy is well aware he cannot escape, he has no foolish hope._

Then, the healer began to usher the boy outside and into the hallway. Voldemort silently followed, like a persistent shadow, his eyes keeping a close watch on the puzzled boy as he allowed himself to be led away. Pausing at a door on the right, he gazed briefly at the plaque upon it. _Healer-in-charge…how easy it is to infiltrate such a place and hold a position of high authority. The Ministry really is full of cowardly fools. _Entering the small room, the Dark Lord saw a simple desk, a few white cabinets, a brown leather chair and a smaller wooden chair. The interior was dull, befitting of the prison and its subdued inmates. All around them in this huge stone grave, prisoners desperately seeked the thrill of life, of living, wishing to forget the despair of their surroundings. But it was no use. Those who were brought here became insane. That was a cruel fact. A statement as true as the fact that we need oxygen to survive. There was no argument. Due to this, the inmates went mad, fuelled by their fear of insanity. By fearing it, they speed up the process until they are a mere shell of their former self.

The Dark Lord stalked towards the desk as the other two relocated to the two seats in the room.

"First question, what is your name?" Macnair asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows at his subordinate, regarding the process as a waste of time. _These questions are useless without the aid of Veritaserum. _A small smile grew on the snake-like man's face as he saw the boy was of the same opinion as he.

"You already know my name…" The boy said.

_Ah such disrespect, much like Potter. I would have thought Azkaban would have knocked the fight out of him completely. What a pleasant surprise to see him refusing his place. The boy is quite strong. The similarities between the two are growing…_

Throughout the course of the questions, Voldemort could see the boy becoming more agitated, wishing to end the interrogation. Suddenly, a question of the prisoner's parents sparked such life into him, such an abrupt reaction that he seemed to turn into another person. Like breathing life into a doll, the former stoic boy had a hard edge to his eyes, they narrowed in anger and he began to rise from his chair.

Glancing at Macnair from the corner of his eyes, the Dark Lord smirked as he saw the Death Eater raise his wand and instantly bind the frustrated boy to his chair. The boy was to Voldemort's right, within arm reach, but at the sight of such a frail creature bound, the Dark Lord couldn't contain himself and immediately turned to fully face the boy. He placed his skeletal hands on the arms of the chair, though not entirely resting his weight on his hands as he was unable to actually physically touch anything. Pleased, he continued to watch the boy, the green eyes seemingly staring into his very own eyes. The boy's very presence was intoxicating. His vulnerable state, his desperate cries, all greatly pleased the Dark Lord, who thrived on fear. All of a sudden Voldemort wished to stroke the trembling boy's pale cheek, to bask in his terror and fright. To see his eyes scrunch up in pain at his very touch…to see the famous scar, his claim on the boy, bleed due to his close contact.

Losing himself for the moment, the Dark Lord saw the boy lean his head backwards, away from him. Frowning, Voldemort was about to turn when a long, thin arm ripped through his stomach, like he wasn't there. Stepping to his right, it was clear there was no wound or tear to be seen, as the hand belonged to none other than Macnair, who was now trying to force the boy into drinking some of the truth potion. Quickly, much to the shock of the Death Eater, the boy lunged forward and instantly bit into his hand. With glee, Voldemort watched the boy's savage instincts take a hold of him, as he tore through Macnair's hand like an animal. The instincts only presented themselves when all else had failed, and were a curious reminder to the onlooker how we are, despite our towns, laws and civilisations, animals as much as the birds in the sky, the lions in their prides and the fish in the sea.

In anger, the Death Eater lashed out and slapped the young boy, leaving a red mark upon the otherwise pale face. This action caused the Dark Lord to narrow his eyes. _If anyone notices such marks on the boy, Macnair will be questioned, and his cover will most certainly be blown. Must my followers behave like impulsive, simple-minded fools? He shall be reprimanded later._

Resuming his original position, Voldemort stood to the boy's left, gladly avoiding the unpleasant experience of someone's hand being thrust through your chest. Finally the Veritaserum had been forced down the troublesome boy's throat, and Voldemort waited unblinkingly for the desired reaction. And there it was, like a flick of a light switch, the boy's blazing eyes dulled, and remained blank like a doll's eyes. He sat immobile in the chair, like a statue. It seemed that no one dared to breathe; the anticipation was practically oozing from both Dark wizards.

"Now, tell me your real name."

The boy blinked slowly, systematically, whilst his eyes stared at the wall ahead of him.

"Harry James Potter"

Lunging forward, as fast as a snake strike, Voldemort leaned in front of the boy, his face inches from the boy's own, as if seeing him for the very first time. He stared at the impassive boy – _no…Harry, _Voldemort corrected.

"Ah…Harry Potter." He hissed gleefully, grinning with delight as he became absorbed in the memory.

"To think you would be here all along…" He laughed in disbelief.

Reaching out, Voldemort placed his left hand on the boy's scar, though the lack of contact frustrated him and he drew away slightly.

"It will be only a matter of time, Harry…and then, you will be mine."

_Oh Dumbledore you old coot…has age truly distorted your ability to reason and comprehend the significance of your own actions?...Or perhaps you fear the potential I see in the boy? Your behaviour seems to place doubt on the prophecy itself. Just what are you up to, you old fool?_

"Why are you here?"

_Yes…what would cause the Light to throw their Chosen One in Azkaban?_

"I was sentenced to life in Azkaban by the Minister, Fudge, for murdering my remaining muggle relatives."

Stunned, the Dark Lord could only stare at the destroyed Boy-Who-Lived. It was all too clear that the boy would have been better off dying on that fateful night, than having to obey these twisted creatures who believe they are fighting for a 'good' cause.

_To not break…even now in the depths of despair, you truly are strong, Harry. If it were not for the prophecy, I would make use of such strength. But Dumbledore must be considered. Why would he allow this? It goes against all of his ideals._

"And did you really kill them?"

_Could he be capable of such a dark task? And what would cause him to commit such a reckless crime?_

"Yes"

_This boy…the old coot has been hiding such a gem from me. I never would have believed the boy would hold such promise. Now, if only I could use it._

"Why?"

_Ah, the very question I wanted to ask, Macnair._

"They killed my owl, have abused and starved me for years and my Uncle raped me."

Fury tore unwillingly through the usually cold snake-like man.

_How dare they touch a magical child with their filthy hands?_

Scenes of his pitiful childhood crossed his mind. A boy named Billy was teasing him, causing him to argue back. The unexpected, tragic death of a certain Billy's rabbit. A cave, two children. The hateful stares of the other orphans. The glare of one Mrs Cole.

_I wonder how the Light side would react, knowing that their Chosen One was mistreated at the hands of filthy muggles? Would their faith in Dumbledore waver? Would their faith in the famous Harry Potter remain?_

Once again, Voldemort was shocked by how alike Potter and him were, especially so now. That is why he felt furious at the thought of lesser beings such as muggles abusing such gifted children. They had no right to even touch them. Muggles were filth, ignorant and arrogant. They would harm a child for being different, and that was the simple truth. Like a pack of animals they would surround a magical child, curse and hit them. Like vultures tearing rotten flesh from a decaying corpse, the muggles would break the vulnerable, pure heart of an innocent witch or wizard, with little to no remorse, and take pride in seeing them break. At the sign of power, they gathered and attacked, fearful of something they did not and never would have. And so, for the first time since he laid his eyes on the raven-haired infant sixteen years ago, Voldemort pitied the abused child in front of him. For a brief moment, he saw himself in Harry Potter, his misunderstood, lonely self. It was quite a strange sensation, to suddenly feel even vaguely sentimental towards your enemy, however much out-of-character it was. Though the feeling was soon hidden behind his anger for the despicable muggles.

_I can't begin to feel like this towards Potter. There's no time for such things. And I shall not stand by whilst he attempts to kill me, if he should be foolish enough to even try._

"Did you enjoy killing them?" Macnair asked, grinning.

_Ah, Macnair. The lust you have for bloodshed is all too easy to read in your eyes…_Though Voldemort couldn't deny his interest in Harry's answer.

"I enjoyed hurting them, like they hurt me. My Uncle and cousin deserved it. My Aunt wasn't as bad as them, but she didn't stop them." Harry answered honestly.

The Dark Lord's eyes widened, studying the boy.

"Ah, how alike we are, Harry Potter." He hissed gently, recalling his revenge on his own family members.

_Truly you are…to think we would share the same abuse…to think we would have the same pleasure to exact our sweet revenge on those who have wronged us. And revenge is sweet, particularly on those who have abused you greatly. But what an interesting outcome this is!_

"Does Dumbledore know you are here?"

"Yes, he was at the trial. He visited me today."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. _As I suspected, the old coot has been keeping track of Potter. The question is, why would he let Harry be placed in Azkaban? And why has the boy not been released yet? To think he would visit the boy…he is already beginning to fix the broken strings. I must act sooner than anticipated…_

"And you trust him?"

_Ah this should be interesting, if not incredibly important. Should the boy still have faith in Dumbledore…_

"I used to, but now I don't know who to trust. Everyone has lied to me."

_I see…he distrusts all those around him. This is most convenient. _

Abruptly, Voldemort felt a tugging sensation as he was lifted out of the memory to stand in his private quarters at Malfoy Manor once more. Sitting in his chair, Voldemort began to turn the matter of the prophecy over in his head.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal - yes, the scar -, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._

_The boy could be useful, I cannot doubt that. But he is also prophesized to be my downfall._

Voldemort frowned. He stared with narrowed eyes at the stone basin, the cause of his current problem. _Yes…this complicates matters. It would not be wise to destroy such a valuable person; however I cannot allow the Light to get their tainted hands on him again. For now, I shall occupy myself with locating and retrieving the boy. Then, and only then, shall I contemplate his potential. If he should resume his foolish charade of trying to kill me, I shall have to kill him._

Standing, he began to walk towards the door and to the drawing room where his Death Eaters would be arriving shortly.

_Sending Harry Potter to Azkaban? Oh how the Light has fallen. Ah well, if nothing else, at least Azkaban has ridden the boy of his childish naivety._

His red eyes gleamed, yet there was a harsh glint that warned of his anger.

"You have made your last mistake, Dumbledore-" Swiftly he walked down the hallway and as the two doors leading to his private quarters slammed shut, he continued. "-and I won't allow you time to gather your remaining strings." He chuckled quietly, silently descending the stairs.

_-HP-_

It was midday on the 9th of August. The golden streams of light penetrated the large window, casting a bright shine on the many delicate silver instruments that stood on thin, spindle-legged tables around the room. Portraits of late headmasters and headmistresses were framed on each of the walls. A desk sat at the further end of the room and next to it, on a tall stand, was a beautiful bird, covered in feathers of all the colours of the sun. Bright yellows, oranges and reds coated its pristine frame as it perched elegantly, its intelligent eyes gazed at the two occupants in the room.

One elderly man, with a long, grey beard sat troubled in the tall chair at the desk, his bright robes flowing out around him. The second man stood at the front of the desk, like a misbehaving child, and looked just as uneasy. Contrary to the vibrant robes of the old man, he wore plain black robes and seemed to be waiting for the other to speak, before offering anything to the conversation.

"It seems the boy has become quite distraught, he refused to listen to me when I visited him. I had hoped he would be more compliant by now, perhaps I underestimated his perseverance…" The old man wondered, as if speaking to himself.

"But what shall we do, Dumbledore? What if the boy no longer follows your orders?" The other man said, appearing almost flustered in his worry, like his troubles were becoming too much for him to handle.

"He will, Cornelius, do not fear. The boy may not be willing to see me yet, but in time he will be more understanding. You forget that I am the only one the boy can fully trust. Before long he will be pleading for help, like so many others in Azkaban. And only I will be able to help him. He shall see that my way is right, just like he used to, and then we will safely have our Chosen One back again." Dumbledore said with an air of command, filled with subtle confidence.

"Well – If you're sure, Dumbledore. The public can't be kept in the dark for much longer; they'll grow suspicious if there are no sightings of the boy soon. Kingsley has been very persistent about it all, and I fear the boy's closest friends will feel the same. We're short on time." Fudge stated anxiously.

"It will only take a few more weeks, Cornelius. I promise you." Dumbledore assured calmly.

"Very well. Then I should be going, before my absence is noticed." Fudge remarked, and then headed towards the fireplace located on the left side of the room.

After the brief flash of emerald light that told of the Minister's departure, Dumbledore continued to sit silently at his desk, thinking of the boy who seemed to unintentionally bring about so much panic. The man's very image seemed to resemble a certain Dark Lord's who, in just a few hours, would be sat at his very own desk much like the old man, contemplating the same subject of a raven-haired, green-eyed child. The phoenix hooted sadly in the silence, its sorrow echoing throughout the gloom.

_-HP-_

Slowly, his eyes opened. Assessing each side of his field of vision, he instantly recognised the dark lighting of his cell, and also the lack of any unwanted visitors. Rising to sit on the ever uncomfortable bed, Harry winced as a muscle in his neck throbbed in discomfort.

_What happened? How did I get here?_

He could only remember being taken to the hospital for a check-up. Everything else was unknown to him, and he oddly felt a little relieved by it. Out of sight, out of mind after all. _D-Did they knock me out? _Harry thought in disbelief. He hated going to the hospital. That man treated him like an interesting toy, so much so that Harry had begun to feel slightly less human in his terrifying presence.

Suddenly, a wave of panic hit him in the chest so fast at the faint sound of footsteps that he felt like he couldn't breathe. Harry knew the worry was unreasonable, but still he couldn't help but to fear the thought of the old man coming back to visit. It was too awful to have to relive his better memories. Harry felt like he had forgotten to breathe for a minute, so he tried to collect his breath again, whilst the heavy feeling of panic settled in his stomach. But for some reason, he found it was quite difficult, and Harry began to deeply inhale in an attempt to control his breathing. Tears formed in his eyes and his lip began to tremble. Swiftly turning to the right, his wide eyes prepared to see the figure whose feet he had surely heard tapping against the stone floor. Darting his eyes to the left, Harry was certain he would see the dangerous person, only for his shocked eyes to meet blank stone. Shaking, he rose from the bed to sit in his corner, feeling more at ease with the cold stone against his back. Still, the panic rose, until it reached his throat, causing a strangled sob to escape his mouth. Hugging his knees to his chest, Harry buried his face in his arms, hiding from the terror of his cell.

_Oh god I'm imagining things…A-Am I going mad?_

Dimly he noted he was having a mild panic attack.

The rattling of keys in a lock woke him next. Stiff and tired, he blinked sleepily. Harry's eyes blankly gazed around his cell until his vision had cleared. Then, and only then, did the matter at hand register in his brain. _There is a man here…T-There is a man here…! _Apprehensive, he glanced at the cell door, which a guard was opening. Harry rose, waiting for the brightly robed old man to appear. Except he never did. Instead, the guard came inside the cell and started to walk towards him. The pang in his chest swelled inside his stomach once more, and Harry pressed himself against the wall.

"N-No…please no…" He said in unjustified fear.

The guard continued, no doubt used to this kind of behaviour.

"I'm just taking you to the hospital, boy. The healer wants to see you, probably to check on that hand of yours." He gestured to Harry's bandaged left hand.

"Please don't take me there." Harry weakly pleaded, but to no avail.

"Sorry kid, but I've got orders." The guard roughly said, seizing Harry by the upper arm and dragging him forward.

Swallowing, Harry gave in to the guard, seeing no chance at success. He attempted to calm himself, assuring himself that he was just being silly. _I'm going to be fine. He just wants to take the bandage off…_

Still, his unease remained all the way down the winding staircase, the long hallways, and up to the hospital doors, until the very man Harry feared exited the doors and came forward to greet them. He was in the clutches of the unpredictable man once more, watching his only protection walk away without glancing back.

A clearing of the throat.

Blinking, Harry glanced at the healer who was sat across from him.

"So, how are you feeling, Potter?" Healer Galen asked pleasantly.

They had moved to the healer's office at the man's offer, as he informed Harry of the many prisoners resting in the hospital. Harry, not wishing to meet any of the other criminals, agreed reluctantly.

"Fine." He said absently, surveying the bland room with distaste.

The man's chuckling brought Harry's gaze back to the healer.

"Well that's good to hear. Ah! Before I forget, I was asked to give you this letter as I would be seeing you today." Curiously, Harry looked on as the man retrieved a letter from his desk. Hope blossomed inside him. _Who is it from? Could it be from Lupin? Or Mr Weasley? Or Ron? Or Hermione?_

Tentatively, Harry reached out for the letter, clasping it tightly in his hand. He looked at the front, only to frown. _Is this some sort of sick joke? _It was completely blank. On instinct, he turned to glare at the healer, who only grinned in answer.

Leaning forward slightly, the healer watched the boy.

"Open it." He said in amusement.

Harry paused, unsure. _Should I really trust him? But what can anyone do to me that is worse than rotting in here? _With a burst of stubborn determination, he tore open the letter, not noticing the wax seal on the back of the letter of a certain families' crest. Paying the healer no mind, Harry concentrated on the contents of the mysterious letter.

It read:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_It has recently come to my attention that you, the Boy-Who-Lived, have been sent to Azkaban. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I cannot fathom why the Minister or Dumbledore would allow their Golden boy to be sent to such a terrible place._

_I write to you to offer my help. Though that may seem strange and suspicious for a child of the Light, I urge you to take me up on my offer and contact me. You have my word that none of your closest acquaintances know of your whereabouts. Believe me when I say I am the only one who can help you, Potter. As unlikely as it is, what I say is the absolute truth. Think wisely about your predicament. Surely you must see that those who have protected you in the past have now betrayed you?_

_I await your reply._

_With regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Dumbfounded, Harry folded the letter. _Why would Mr Malfoy be writing to me? Could it really be true…that no one knows I am here?_

"Well?" The healer abruptly said.

Harry gasped, momentarily forgetting the healer's presence.

"I-It was just from a…concerned person I know." Harry lied quickly.

The healer raised an eyebrow and smirked knowingly.

"Ah I see. Well, aren't you going to reply?" He asked.

"E-Erm…I wouldn't know what to say. Besides, is sending letters even allowed here?" Harry wondered.

"Of course, as long as there is a responsible staff member to overlook the proceedings." He grinned. With that, he placed a piece of parchment and a quill in front of the boy and waited to see the results.

Harry looked with furrowed brows at the blank piece of parchment on the desk.

_I haven't spoken to someone on the outside for so long…other than Dumbledore._

His hand twitched in response, wanting to establish any form of contact with the outside world.

_I suppose it couldn't hurt…to ask some questions._

He picked up the quill and, with no further interference from the healer, began to reply to Lucius Malfoy's letter.

_Dear Mr Malfoy …_

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><p>AN: Hello all, I would just like to say that I suddenly got the idea of Harry's panic attack whilst writing, and decided to try to describe what I felt when I used to get mild panic attacks in school. Food for thought!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Hello once again my dear readers. Thank you to those who have reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. Also, thank you to all my anonymous reviewers, whom I cannot reply to. I'll admit I wasn't too happy with the last chapter. It just seemed to lack something to me. Hopefully this one will be better! Oh and you may be happy to note that it was surprisingly easier to write this chapter for me.

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><p>It is in the evening of the 9th of August. A large manor sits still and silent in the deathly cold. Nothing moved, even the vicious wind that was so normal on such a night was missing, leaving the leaves of the tall trees hanging limply in the stagnant air. The far-stretched lawn was partly illuminated by a few long rays of light that came from various windows on the first floor. The yellowish-orange glow from within each window remained undisturbed. All was still, inside and out.<p>

In a drawing room sat many black-cloaked figures, all of whom were quiet, obedient, gazing up at their calm leader. At the head of the long table sat a pale, skeletal man who continued to patiently stroke the large snake that resided to his right. The monstrous snake was roughly 12 foot long, and was raised so its head was shoulder-height to its powerful owner. The man seemed to be thinking deeply, not at all troubled by the men and women looking at him in waiting. Instead, he seemed to take pleasure in knowing his position of power, which was so effectively shown, as the rest looked upon him like submissive dogs. A thrum of excitement resonated throughout the room, the Death Eaters most eager to listen to what Lord Voldemort had to say. Even a pin drop would be heard, were it not for the low hissing of the snake beside the Dark Lord.

"For exactly six days, Macnair has been infiltrating Azkaban." The Dark Lord spoke suddenly, his eyes still on his ever-present familiar. His red eyes gleamed in barely supressed delight as he slowly, charismatically told his story. "This morning, in a meeting with our mysterious little prisoner, he came upon an interesting piece of truth with the use of Veritaserum." As soon as the words left the serpentine man's mouth, he raised his head and regarded his many followers, pausing in his important tale for good effect. Some even shivered as the man's blood-red orbs roamed over their form. "This boy, who has piqued our interest ever since Macnair was so fortunate to meet him, is none other than Harry Potter. The very boy we have been searching for…has been within our reach all this time." He grinned at last, his usually cold, emotionless face shone with fresh triumph.

At his smirk, the Death Eaters began to laugh quietly, encouraged by their master's good mood. The lack of an instant 'Silence!' showed how promising the news was, and the Death Eaters could sense it. Their master's approval. Something so rare to come by, that told them of their good work. Some grinned foolishly, drunk on the Dark Lord's glee. Others were less obvious, but the slight twitch of one corner of their lip displayed their own pride and happiness. If any of the Light side were to catch a glimpse of this display from the normally stoic Dark side, they would surely freeze in shock. Yet, a small nagging in their mind would warn them of the promise of a fierce battle in the future. Seeing such creatures, that were considered Dark, laugh freely foretold of their cunning, evil plans that bore only destruction to the rest of the Wizarding world. But in the eyes of a stranger, foreign to this world's fights, the strategy they planned to soon set into action may even be seen as mercy. Mercy to an abused young boy who has been so cruelly treated at the hands of people he has relied on. Voldemort, unperturbed by the laughter of the others, carried on easily.

"Yes, it is indeed a very promising revelation. However, that wasn't the only piece of information gathered. It seems the old coot has played a part in Harry Potter's predicament as well as the Ministry. Their goal is not yet clear to us, but this means we must act quickly. If Dumbledore knew the boy was in Azkaban from the start, then there is the possibility that he could remove the boy from Azkaban at any time. Should he succeed, our chance of claiming the boy would be slim, if not lost entirely." Voldemort explained, ensuring the Death Eaters around him of the urgency of the mission. The room instantly turned silent at the name of their greatest risk, besides the Boy-Who-Lived. Albus Dumbledore. The faces that, only a minute ago, were showing joy, now showed only distaste. Their eyebrows lowered in determination for ridding themselves of their most powerful foe.

"What do you propose we do, My Lord?" Lucius Malfoy said, bowing his head to acknowledge his Lord's power.

The Dark Lord paused mid-stroke and raised his right hand from his familiar. At his action, the snake, Nagini, dutifully lowered onto the floor and slithered out of the room. It was clear Voldemort had given great thought on the subject, for he spoke his calculating plan with the ease and poise of a true leader.

"Firstly, we must establish where exactly Harry Potter resides. If we attempt to break into the prison without knowing his location, we could lose him. Dumbledore may be waiting for such an action, and will no doubt grab the boy in the confusion. Therefore, Macnair you will find out where Harry's cell is. You will also continue to hold meetings with him. Whilst there, he shall be away from Dumbledore's influence. You will inform me if the old man has visited the boy since today."

At Lord Voldemort's words, the Death Eaters seemed to grow in confidence, their victory surely ensured by the powerful Dark Lord.

"I understand, My Lord." Macnair replied.

"Also…there is the matter of the prophecy. It states that this child will be my…downfall." A few snickers. "Yet, if so, why has Dumbledore placed the Light's Saviour in Azkaban? The prophecy's reliability is waning. The boy's loyalties have been cleanly severed, he only fully trusts himself. As I perceive, the boy is even less of a threat now than he was before his disappearance. I must find a way to contact him, before the old coot begins to instil further manipulations into his broken puppet." The Dark Lord glanced at each person, their qualities, with keen red eyes.

Settling his crimson gaze on the silvery-white haired Lucius Malfoy, he smirked slightly.

"Lucius. You shall be suitable." Amusement briefly flickered across his regal features as he saw the esteemed pureblood pale in response.

"M-My Lord?" Lucius Malfoy questioned hesitantly, though he attempted to cover up said nervousness with the emotionless mask every Malfoy prided themselves for having.

"You will write a letter to the boy, informing him that you know of his current position in Azkaban. Express you want to help him, that his friends remain unaware of his situation. Question his loyalties. That should spark a reaction out of Harry Potter. With this, we shall establish a mutual connection with the boy. He will want answers, and we will give them to him, though at the cost of him answering questions of our own. This will help us to understand where his allegiance lies. I will not harm the boy until it is clear that he still intends to be the Light's Chosen One." Voldemort narrowed his eyes minutely, his intimidating aura promising the same self-restraint from harming the boy from the Death Eaters. The order that all were keen to obey, for it was not worth the punishments, harming the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Certainly, My Lord." Lucius replied.

"Good. To my understanding, Azkaban does not allow owl post to be sent or received. Macnair, you will have to give the letter to the boy, but do not make him suspicious of your possession of the letter. It may cause him to refuse to reply. Do not allow him to leave the room with the letter. If Dumbledore finds it, he will grab the boy. Gently persuade the boy to reply, and then retrieve the letter. I trust the boy will refrain from saying anything to the old coot, he has lost almost all his faith in him."

Silently, Voldemort stood, causing the rest to stir nervously. As everyone watched, the Dark Lord slowly raised his hand, gesturing to Lucius Malfoy.

"Come, Lucius."

Shocked, the pale Malfoy was forced to obey. His confusion and anticipation was clear as he stood to the right of the Dark Lord. Seemingly enjoying his follower's fright, Voldemort held out his own ashen, bony hand.

"Pull up your left sleeve, Lucius."

He did as requested, revealing a stunning, bold, black mark etched into his left inner forearm. A terrifying skull stood out clearly, a snake protruded out of its mouth and twisted to rest just under the wrist. It seemed to shiver in contact with Lord Voldemort's hand as he placed two fingers on its inky blackness. The black outline was quite a contrast to the otherwise porcelain white skin of the Death Eater. As soon as Voldemort touched the Dark Mark, the other Dark Marks in the room began to burn slightly, warning the owners of their duty towards their master. It was a call that was always best answered. Lord Voldemort smirked, waiting. He did not have to wait long, for in less than a minute, the doors of the drawing room had opened to welcome a pale man, with a bat-like cloak and greasy-black hair.

In response to the man's appearance, Voldemort looked towards him, his smirk growing.

"Ah, Severus! How nice of you to join us." He hissed menacingly.

_-HP-_

10th August

The young black-haired boy stared at the blank piece of parchment on the desk in front of him. A clock ticked steadily, echoing around the room. The constant ticking greatly bothered the boy, making him apprehensive. The sound meant his seconds were passing away…those seconds, minutes, hours were lost. He would never get them back. The clock filled him with tension; it was like that single object signified his very presence here, his very being. Harry felt like his time was running out. It was an unnerving, if not odd, thing to experience at seventeen. To believe for an instant that your time in this world was nearly at its end, when in reality you had so many more years ahead of you. In another twenty years, would you be any happier? Or would it have been better if you had died earlier? Frustrated, the boy glared at the parchment, his bright green eyes narrowed as he struggled to write a reply. _What should I say?_

The office was almost completely silent, even the healer remained quiet in his seat, keeping his gaze on the concentrated prisoner. Harry's right hand shook as he held the quill. _Should I really answer the letter? He's a Death Eater! _He bit his lip in hesitation. All of a sudden, his predicament came crashing down upon himself. He was in Azkaban, and it was possible no one else knew where he was. If that was true, then there really was no hope for him. Why would anyone else help the Boy-Who-Lived after all? When almost, if not more than, half of the Wizarding community saw him as more of a nuisance, an enemy, than a friend. The possibility seemed to burn a hole right through his chest, making it hollow. It wasn't the first time…that he had felt empty, lonely. Gritting his teeth in sheer determination, Harry began to write, consequences be damned. _I need answers…and he may be the only one who can give them to me. I don't care if he's a Death Eater…not anymore! Right now, he's my only contact to the outside. I can't afford to ignore this!_

His quill hit the paper softly, shakily.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_I'm writing this reply to you in order to get some answers as I feel I have been given none. I know exactly who you are, who you work for and I know you've never considered yourself an ally of the Light. So then why do you want to help me? Me, your master's supposed downfall, the Boy-Who-Lived?_

_I don't exactly know how you found out I was here, since I thought Fudge was trying his damned hardest to make sure no one knew I was here. I just hope you used legal methods, though seeing as you're a Death Eater, that might be asking too much. I'm not sure what has been going on in the outside world, I barely know what's happening in this place, but I doubt anything I say here will change my future. In case you don't already know, I've been sentenced to life in Azkaban. You say you're the only one who can help me? How can I be helped, when it seems almost everyone I've ever trusted has allowed me to be thrown in this place? _

_I'm sorry, really I am, but I can't trust your word. There is too much to be lost. If I give up all hope of my friends helping me, I might really go mad. Though that would only serve to help your master, I'm sure. I don't feel nervous about telling you that I don't know what is going on anymore. I feel like I don't know who everyone is, like I'm in a dream. A nightmare. I believe Dumbledore has betrayed me, the one man I fully trusted. But he says he did it to protect me from a dementor's kiss. Even if that isn't true, I can't give up on my friends. They are, and always have been, the only thing I have._

_This is a once in a life time request, Mr Malfoy. Please, find out what is happening. Why am I here? I can't find out anything in here, I feel like I've been deliberately separated from the rest of the inmates. I'm not even sure if they know I'm in here. I know you have no reason to help me, I have nothing to offer. _

_Oh and please ignore my rant…it's just gibberish from a boy who feels like he is going insane. Being in here, you can't really blame me. Strangely, I feel better after writing this. I'll just try to pretend this isn't going to the Death Eaters meeting place._

_Sorry about my shaky writing._

_Harry Potter_

Sighing, he finished the letter and handed it over to the healer at his request. Breathing deeply, Harry tried to calm his nerves. It seemed as of late, a simple noise or shadow was enough to send him into a full-blown state of panic. He felt like a child, scared of the dark. It was embarrassing, yet he couldn't stop his awful thoughts that fed his fears. He had just said more about his feelings in that single letter than in any of his conversations with anyone in a long, long time. _To share these feelings with a Death Eater…how I've fallen._

"Thank you, Potter. That's it for today's session. I'll escort you back to your cell myself. Lead the way." The healer gestured towards the door, where they both headed silently.

The path to his cell was growing familiar to Harry now. Together they walked up the large staircase, the healer's hand on Harry's shoulder hurrying him along. _What if Voldemort reads that letter? Well…it's not like I gave anything away…right? _Harry questioned himself, relieved that the healer didn't try to engage him with any meaningless small talk. The prison remained ever-silent, and as always Harry felt like he was only one of the few people living here. Their footsteps echoed solemnly throughout the gloom of the hallway, in which they had just entered. Silently they continued their trek down the long passage, until a short, abrupt yell caused them both to halt in their tracks. The healer's hand on his shoulder tightened for an instant before they turned to face the direction of the shout.

"Hey! Excuse me!" It was a guard, who was running up to them from behind. "I'm sorry, sir, but only guards are allowed to escort the prisoners. Didn't anybody tell you that? It isn't safe for you to be with them alone, sir." He said breathlessly.

Harry took this chance to look at the healer curiously. _Doesn't he know the rules? Is he new here? _The healer, unperturbed by the guard's words, beamed at him. His tight grip remained on the boy's shoulder.

"Oh I must have forgotten, I am sorry. Well, I've been with Mr Potter here for over half an hour, and as you can see no harm has come to me. He's quite harmless." He shot Harry a quick glance, smirking. "I wouldn't mind taking him back to his cell, I'm sure you have more dangerous prisoners to guard." He said pleasantly, smiling. His eyes were slightly narrowed, giving them a harsh glint that was quite unsettling. The guard didn't seem to notice such a dangerous stare, and carried on regardless.

"I'm sorry; sir, but rules are rules. I'll take the boy back to his cell. If you'll excuse us." And with that the guard grasped Harry's other arm and led him out of the grip of the healer, who stood watching them leave.

As they were moving away, Harry risked a glance backwards and saw the healer hadn't moved since they started walking. He stood upright, smiling just as brightly, his eyes staring straight at him. Turning, Harry couldn't help but worry at the sight. _Why is he still stood there? _As the boy turned away, the healer's smile cracked, replaced by a deeply set frown. His eyes glared holes through Harry's back, telling of his unhappiness. Then, with one last look at the boy, he spun on his heels and walked back down the long hallway, down the staircase and into his office.

_-HP-_

9th August

Black, coal eyes glanced around the room. To his shock, all the seats were filled, bar his own, and looked like they had been for some time. He schooled his features and looked towards the grinning Dark Lord. Quickly, he bowed his head.

"My Lord." He stated.

"It has been quite a while, hasn't it Severus? Come, be seated." The pale arm gestured to the chair to his immediate right. "The rest, leave." The snake-like man ordered silkily.

Severus Snape, clad in his usual black cloak, walked forwards until he was at the front of the table. Sitting in the offered chair, he anxiously awaited his Lord's decree. The Dark Lord remained standing as he spoke.

"It has recently come to my attention, Severus, that Dumbledore has been more involved with the boy's disappearance than I first believed." His tone was light, yet there was an underlying threat that held the other still, staring at the wall ahead of him. Slowly, tantalizingly, the Dark Lord slithered towards Severus' chair, before he stood directly behind it. His hands grasped the top of the chair, as he peered down at his follower.

"Yes, it seems the old coot has known of the boy's whereabouts from the very beginning." He hissed.

He moved again, to the right, until he was leaning at the side of the frozen Death Eater. Eagerly he assessed his subject, like a snake holding its hostage tightly, savouring the moment before sinking its fangs into the victim's neck. Voldemort's long, thin fingers of his left hand gripped the top of the chair whilst his other hand came to rest on the right arm of the chair.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Severus?" The veiled threat was crystal clear now as he stared at Severus' blank face, carefully detecting any tell-tale signs of a lie.

"You wouldn't be keeping something from me, would you Severus?"

"No, My Lord. Dumbledore hasn't been seen for over a week now, My Lord." Severus claimed.

"I see…Should you be lying to me…I know all too well of your reports to Dumbledore…but I spared you, believing you were most loyal to me. Was I wrong? Have you betrayed me, Severus?" Voldemort inquired dismissively, as if the answer was unimportant. As if the answer didn't decide whether a man lives or dies.

The potions master paled slightly, but continued.

"No, My Lord. I swear I had no knowledge of Dumbledore knowing where the boy was from the very start. I knew only what the Daily Prophet-"

"Enough! Look at me." He ordered.

Stunned, Severus complied with only a second of hesitation. As soon as his coal eyes met crimson, Severus prepared himself to feel the prodding sensation that told him of an intrusion into his mind. However, such was not the case this time. The Dark Lord grasped his chin roughly, his sharp nails digging into the potion master's jaw and neck. It was clear that Voldemort didn't believe his words, for he savagely tore through his masterful defences with only a few seconds delay, discarding memory after memory until he came across a meeting in the Weasley's home, the Burrow. Stiffening, Severus felt the Dark Lord's displeasure and could only wait for his due punishment.

Rising, Lord Voldemort looked upon his follower, frowning. Silently, he raised his arm, now holding his bone-coloured wand.

"Crucio"

A red stream of light passed out of his wand, heading towards the Death Eater. Upon contact, Severus thrashed violently as if electrocuted. His whole body was moving uncontrollably, like he was having a fit. The pain was everywhere, it completely filled his mind. It was as if a thousand or more knives were stabbing his whole body over and over again, the sharp pain never ending. When he thought the pain was at its worst, it would return once more like a flash of lightning, all the more powerful and stronger. Screams left his throat as the curse was held for over a minute. Once lifted, Severus slumped back in his chair, gasping and shivering.

"You have disappointed me, Severus." The Dark Lord stood tall to the right of the shaken Death Eater. "Did I not order you to inform me immediately if Dumbledore was to return?" Red eyes gleamed, daring the potion master to answer. Wisely, he kept silent.

"But no matter. I have found out all I need to know regarding the boy's disappearance from other more…trustworthy sources. You see Severus; I had suspicions that you were withholding information from me, so I had the rest come upon my orders personally. Without the use of the Dark Mark, you were left unknowing to my plans. Luckily for you, the information I have gained far outweighs that which you have held from me." Lord Voldemort tilted his head slightly, regarding the man with interest. "But I am a merciful Lord, Severus, so I won't kill you for your disloyalty. No. I shall give you a chance to redeem yourself. Should you fail, I trust you know the consequences…"

"Y-Yes, My Lord. T-Thank you." Severus stammered, recovering from the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

"Good. Do not disappoint me again, Severus." The Dark Lord warned.

The bat-like man listened to the Dark Lord as he retold of the previous Death Eater meetings and all the information gathered. The Death Eater was too exhausted to hide his emotions with his blank mask, and his eyes widened at Lord Voldemort's short tale. _Lily Potter's son…is in Azkaban?_

_-HP-_

14th August

It had been four days since the curious happenings of the 10th, between the healer and the guard. Since then, the man hadn't tried to escort him to his cell anymore. The usual routine took place; he was taken to the healer's office, where they would…talk. Harry remained unwilling to take part, but found it was better to obey the man, rather than displease him. The nightmares had not gone away; and the dementors remained as restless and greedy as ever. The nights were the worst in Azkaban. They seemed endless and very, very painful. Not to mention incredibly cold. Harry was sure, had he been anywhere else, he would have fallen ill to pneumonia long ago. It seemed like the Ministry had _kindly _deployed another charm to keep the prisoners quiet and in place. _Anything to keep us in our cells. _After all, it would be quite troublesome for them if prisoners were becoming gravely ill left, right and centre. _Though I'm sure the victims would be all too happy for them to have an unexpected, early death._

At first, Harry hated and feared the meetings with the healer. Truthfully, he couldn't even remember all of them. He felt unsure about asking the healer about them, so he resolved to keep his troubles to himself, like always. He doubted the meetings held any significance anyway. However, he had never seen another prisoner leave the man's office, forcing Harry to wonder, _does anyone else even have these meetings? _To him, the meetings seemed pointless. But as the weeks went by, Harry began to wait anxiously for the guard to collect him and take him to the healer's office. The healer, unbeknownst to Harry himself, became his only release from his otherwise stagnant life here in Azkaban. Without him, Harry begrudgingly felt he would have gone insane long ago. It was simply unimaginable, to spend the rest of his time in silence, sitting in that small cell for the next 50 years…

The meetings offered him much more than a quiet, peaceful walk to and from his destination. The panic attacks, dementors, all of his fears were left in that bare cell of his, waiting eagerly to pounce upon him when he returned. In the office, he could momentarily forget his mother's screams, the deathly cold hold the night had over him. Though the man was still terrifying and most untrustworthy, he was a better replacement for his time than endless solitude. Though, even when his fears had temporarily subsided, he still had the nagging feeling that someone was watching him as the guard walked him back to his cell. Two days ago, on the 12th, Harry thought he saw a brief flicker of movement as he turned to pass through a door, but when he looked behind him, there was nothing there. As they walked along the corridor, Harry felt the stare of someone on the back of his neck that told him that what he saw wasn't just his imagination. Yet he shook the feeling off, declaring it was due to his nerves. Harry could have gladly accepted his excuse, but as he was walking back to his cell the next day, another similar occurrence happened.

Harry was walking out of the healer's office and down the bleak hallway. The guard's grip remained safely clasped onto his arm. Just as they were about to exit the passage and begin to walk up the stone staircase, Harry heard a faint 'Click!'. Turning his head slightly, so as to not be obvious, he glanced down the hallway out of the corner of his eyes. There. The healer's office door was open just a tad, though he clearly remembered the guard closing it. Satisfied, Harry knew then that the healer was watching them, though his purpose remained a mystery. _Maybe he's just waiting for us to go before going to see another prisoner? But why bother hiding? _Frowning, Harry ignored the healer's gaze until he was led out and up the staircase. His discovery did nothing to ease the tension in his body, and it seemed the guard could sense the stiffness in his body also as his grip on Harry tightened. _Does he think I'm actually going to try and escape from him? _Harry bit his lip in order to stop the sudden chuckle from leaving his mouth at the thought. _I'd be dragged to the hospital and sedated before I could even say 'I'm innocent!'. _As thought after thought arose in his mind, Harry found the bubble of laughter harder to cover up.

Grinning, Harry saw they had just reached the top of the stairs. He was beginning to shake with supressed laughter when another shadow abruptly caught his eye from behind him. Instantly he grew worried, his instincts urged him to turn around and face his opponent. With the guard's hold, Harry was forced to wait anxiously, baring his back to the unseen enemy. At last they passed through the heavy metal doors, but not before Harry managed another glance behind him. This time, it was more than a brief shadow he saw. With widened eyes, Harry watched it, until his gaze was met by the metal doors that had now closed behind them.

In his cell, Harry mulled over what he saw, his troubled thoughts too frantic to calm. _Why is he following us? _Harry thought in panic. It was foolish to get so worked up, but after what had happened only a few days ago, he knew the man had no right to trail after them.

As he slowly turned to look behind him at the doors at the top of the staircase, he saw a flicker of white cloth, a white coat, from a lower stair level. A healer's coat. The healer was following them, and had been for some days now. But he always stopped before reaching the top of the staircase. _Why? What does he want?_

And so, Harry was subjected to another sleepless night, leaving Harry quite slow and lethargic in the morning. _If it even is morning. _Now, he sat still in his corner idly waiting the guard who was to come and collect him in a few hours. His eyelids briefly closed slowly, and then snapped wide open. His lack of sleep was catching up to him, but he didn't dare sleep in case the guard chose to postpone his meeting for another day, not wishing to disturb the sleeping prisoner. Despite his active mind, his body began to lean to the left, until his head gently hit the wall. Harry's eyes closed shut, and he knew no more.

He woke next to the feeling of someone roughly shaking his right shoulder. Angry at having being woken up, Harry attempted to release his shoulder from the unwanted grip. The hand wasn't having any resistance as it dragged him to the side viciously, making Harry throw his hands out to stop himself from hitting the floor. Glaring, his Avada Kedavra eyes looked at the guard with annoyance. To the stare, the guard merely crossed his arms.

"Behave yourself, boy. I'm just taking you to the healer's office." The guard replied, ensuring Harry's cooperation.

Once there, Harry sat in his usual seat facing the healer, the discovery of yesterday still fresh in his mind.

"I'm glad you could make it, Potter. Having trouble sleeping?" The healer inquired, with his annoying grin etched into his face.

"I'm fine." Harry growled.

Amused blue eyes met hostile green ones.

"I see. Well, you'll be glad to know I've got another letter here for you-" The healer started, reaching inside the desk for the letter.

The door to the office was suddenly opened, revealing a single guard. The healer's hand stilled and he stood up to happily greet the guard.

"Hello, how can I help you? It is quite rude to enter without knocking." The healer said in good humour.

"Ah I'm sorry, sir. But there is a visitor for Harry Potter, so he will have to come with me right away." The guard explained.

Shocked, Harry faced the guard fully. _Who is it? I hope it isn't Dumbledore…_

"I see. Well, Mr Potter, it seems we must end today's session early. I wasn't aware Mr Potter had any remaining relatives…" The healer carefully suggested.

"It's not a family member, sir." The guard answered.

"A friend? Ah well, I will see you next time, Mr Potter." The healer ended, acting nonchalantly as if the information was irrelevant.

"A mentor, it seems, sir. But I'm not allowed to say anymore, sir." He added quickly, leading Harry out of the room.

"Of course. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." The healer said apologetically.

Whilst Harry's mind was on the mysterious letter, ever since the guard entered the office, he had begun to contemplate who the visitor was. He dreaded to think it was the old man coming to dig up old, forgotten memories again. Harry was afraid he couldn't handle it. Arriving at his cell, Harry was surprised to find no one else there. On asking, the guard replied shortly that he was going to bring the visitor. Once gone, Harry began to pace in his cell, his eyebrows drawn in worry. _Is it Dumbledore? He said a 'mentor'…_Frustrated, Harry momentarily wished there was no visitor. Having no one to visit him was better than having hope resurface in your chest, only to be dragged cruelly back as he was let down again.

Finally, the guard came back and started to unlock his door.

"W-Who-" He began, but immediately caught sight of the gaudy, bright robes that left no doubt as to the identity of their wearer.

Standing up straight, he glared at the guard with more courage than he actually had.

"I don't want him here. Please tell him to leave." Harry said, his voice trembling in anger.

To his tone, the old man merely smiled and stayed put, much to Harry's frustration.

"I'm sorry, boy, but I have orders that says he is allowed to stay for at least five minutes. Try to behave yourself in that time, eh?" The guard replied in exasperation, heading down the hall after casting Harry one last warning glance.

Anger flooded through the young boy upon hearing the guard's words. Many weeks ago, he would have been all too happy to spend time with his headmaster, but now, he shivered in rage at the thought. Moving his icy green gaze from the guard to Dumbledore, Harry remained silent, waiting for the esteemed headmaster to speak. If looks could kill, the great Albus Dumbledore would have died moments ago, his own eyes scorched by the burning hatred residing in the fiery green orbs of the young Harry Potter. There was something about the old man, which seemed to resurface all of his bitter, primitive emotions. The words coming from Dumbledore were not heeded, the prisoner being overpowered by his own feelings.

"Hello Harry, my boy. It's been a long time since I last saw you. Are you feeling any better?" Dumbledore asked kindly. To Harry, his tone seemed to insinuate that he was mad, and he felt his clenched fists tremble in barely suppressed anger.

"I'm fine! I couldn't be better." Harry answered sarcastically.

"My boy, can't you see that I'm only trying to help you? I know you are angry, and you have every right to be." Dumbledore said, attempting to calm the boy.

Fuming, the prisoner remained silent, intending to discourage the man and therefore silence him. _Just five minutes…it's just five minutes. I can handle this. _But his wishes were ignored as Dumbledore carried on, seemingly ignorant to Harry's apparent dismissal.

"Please, Harry. Your resentment towards me is entirely one-sided, dear boy. You should feel hatred towards Voldemort, not me Harry. Voldemort-"

"VOLDEMORT DIDN'T LOCK ME UP IN AZKABAN! YOU DID! YOU AND FUDGE!" Harry shouted.

"No, Voldemort didn't. He would have killed you, my boy. Is that what you want?"

The boy stubbornly refused to speak.

"Please Harry, talk to me. I can help you, but I need you to trust me." Dumbledore encouraged once more.

"Why am I here? Why am I being treated like a criminal? I was trying to protect myself!" Harry finally gave in, his need for answers more important at this moment in time.

"Harry, my dear boy, you killed your relatives-"

"I know what I did! Do you think I could ever forget? Do you think I'm as cold as a-"

"Then you must see, my dear boy, that you committed a grave crime. Murder cannot go unpunished, Harry, even if it's in self-defence."

"Do you really think I deserve a life sentence, Dumbledore?" Harry asked, suddenly sounding weak.

"Of course not, my boy. I only wish you hadn't committed the crime, or used Unforgivables. It was very dark magic you used that night, Harry. I didn't expect it from you."

"I couldn't help it! For years I've had to live with people who would rather see me on the streets! For years I've been abused, yet no one ever came to help me, did they?"

"Harry-" But Harry was too far gone to reason with.

"No! No one came to save their precious Chosen One, though you all expect me to help everyone!"

At his words, Dumbledore frowned and took a step towards Harry.

"Did you forget about all the lives that were given to save yours, boy?" Dumbledore said harshly, causing Harry to lurch back in shock.

"D-Don't-" Harry took a step back.

"Your mother, dear Lily."

"Stop it." Another step.

"Your father, James."

"N-No." Another.

"Cedric Diggory" Dumbledore began to slowly advance forwards again.

"Please…enough." Harry's back hit the wall and he looked up to meet the old man's cold, displeased gaze.

"And what about your godfather? What about Sirius Black, Harry? Did he deserve to die?"

Harry covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the man's words. The blame was evident in his tone, and the truth cut him deeply. He couldn't speak now; his entire form was shaking whilst his breath came out in strangled sobs. Harry was barely holding back his tears. The burden he carried was tough, he knew this. And it grew heavier with each death; he knew they died because of him. Without him, those people would have lived on and had a peaceful, long life. His very presence was unlucky; anyone who came into contact with him could die. The trembling hands pressed against his ears had been dirty for a long time now. They were coated in blood, blood of the innocent. They hadn't died by his hand physically, but it was his fault all the same.

"Did he deserve to die, Harry?" Dumbledore sternly asked, his face inches from Harry's.

Shaking his head frantically, Harry closed his eyes that shined bright with fear.

"No, he didn't. None of them did. Yet they died for you, Harry. They were willing to risk their lives for you. And how do you repay them? By murdering your three remaining relatives in cold blood? You are the Chosen One. You must be the one to kill Voldemort. How would you have done that if you had been kissed? Both the Wizarding and Muggle world would have collapsed. The Light side would have been destroyed. Voldemort would have won. Do you want that to happen, Harry? Do you want Ron and Hermione to die? What about Mr and Mrs Weasley? Remus? Do you want them to die too?"

Crying, Harry shook heavily under Dumbledore's disappointed gaze.

"N-N-No." Harry gasped.

"Well, then you will need to do what I say and trust me. Only then will you be able to protect your friends."

Nodding, Harry covered his face with his hands, refusing to meet Dumbledore's eyes. He was terrified. Never before had he seen the headmaster behave like this. He was intimidating and very angry. In the small cell, Dumbledore had revealed his true self for the first time in many years. Once assured there was only the boy in the vicinity, he had removed his mask in order to instil complete obedience and discipline into the shaken Boy-Who-Lived.

"Good. It hurts me to see you like this, Harry. I didn't want to have it come to this, but it's for your own good. Now, I will be informing Cornelius that you have expressed your utmost regret for your crimes and will be able to be released in a few days. I will come for you soon, Harry." Dumbledore smiled.

His eyes twinkled, his expression was of kindness. There was no trace of a shadow of that man before, who had been present only a minute ago. Harry hadn't noticed the change, as he suddenly slumped to the floor, gasping and sobbing. His shaking hands were still pressed to hide his face.

"It's good to have you back, Harry. For a while, I feared we had lost our Chosen One. Take care, my boy."

And with that, Dumbledore's footsteps faded and Harry heard the guard return to lock his cell door. He couldn't stop trembling, even though he ached from the violent movement. Terrible images passed through his mind of all his fallen family and friends. The air turned cold and bitter, Harry knew the dementors had risen to feast upon the prisoners once more. Silently, he waited to hear his mother's screams and see the blinding, bright green light that put an end to her cries. The seconds passed by as he nervously waited, wanting to get it over with. The throbbing in his head returned, but he paid it no attention. Voices murmured quickly, growing louder and louder. They were screaming, crying. A jet of vivid red. Another. Then, clear as day, he was looking at an old archway. In the middle was a sort of silvery veil that flowed gracefully, creating a barrier that blocked the view of the other side of the archway. _I-It's…a veil. The veil. _A sinister flash of remembrance rushed through him, though was forgotten as a voice filled his ears with its screams of anguish. It was a boy. He was yelling at the veil.

"Si…"

"Sir..."

"SIRIUS!"

_No…_

"SIRIUS!"

It was himself. He was crying over his godfather's death, struggling in Remus Lupin's protective hold. He didn't need to die…Shouldn't have died. _If I hadn't gone to the Ministry…Sirius wouldn't have died._ That was a cold, harsh fact that would plague him forever.

And there, right before his eyes, Sirius was falling through the veil. His lips were lifted in mid-smile. His laughter had been cut short and his eyes, now glazed over, reflected his fear.

"NOOO! NOOO!" Harry screamed in his cell, his tears steadily falling down his face.

He cried and he cried and he cried. The Golden Boy of the Light yelled through the darkness that began to consume him, with only the dementors feeding outside to hear him. His cries were like music to their rotten ears, and at hearing them; they seemed to thrum in excitement and one could only imagine what their decaying features had twisted into to portray such wicked, sinful delight.

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><p>AN: Well that was an awfully quick update for me, wouldn't you say? I feel quite proud of myself for pulling that off! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you liked reading it!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Well, what can I say? I can truthfully tell you that I was astonished to see so many people had reviewed my last chapter, I felt so incredibly happy afterwards. Sometimes, it can be tedious to review a chapter, this I understand well as I spend a lot of my time on this site reading other author's wonderful works. Therefore, I can fully appreciate the time each and every one of you, my dear fellows, make in writing a review.

It has come to my attention that some of you are, or are starting to be, unhappy or agitated with Harry's state of weakness and powerlessness. I noticed this a few chapters ago, and so decided to have him fight back briefly by biting Macnair's hand in a previous chapter. All I can ask of you is to be patient, and to take into consideration where Harry Potter is, what he has been through all his life, and how the world suddenly looks to him. Though you already know this, I feel I need to explain it again, lest some of you become greatly annoyed by Harry's character so far. He is in Azkaban, the cruellest prison for witches and wizards. Every day he must face his worst memories due to the dementors, whom he already fears on their own. Harry has had to face death on a frequent basis, but has always had Dumbledore and his friends beside him to help him and support him. Now, he has no one, and the one man he completely trusted has betrayed him. Imagine what it is like, to find a brief moment of happiness after so long by the arrival of a Hogwart's letter, which allows you to find friends at last. Then, it is all ripped away from you. To not have something such as happiness, you cannot really miss it as you've never felt it. But to finally get that wonderful feeling, only to have it stripped from you, is awful for anybody. Though Harry Potter has proven to be strong, he cannot triumph over everything. I'm sad to say he will not get out of Azkaban unscathed; it would be foolish to even think of the possibility. But all is not lost, for in despair he will certainly find strength to carry on. Harry won't allow others to step over him for much longer. Thank you for your time, I hope I helped you all to understand where Harry is at the present time, and why he is behaving so weak. Chosen One or not, he is just a boy, after all.

Once again, thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourited and alerted this story! Without you, I may not have had the inspiration to carry on writing this story!

Ah, listen to me getting sentimental…there's no time for that, my faithful readers! (I admit to my urge to start calling you my faithful followers!) Enjoy this chapter, for it is dedicated to all of you. It's the longest chapter yet! It was another tricky one, I'm afraid. I wonder if I have unknowingly established a horrible pattern? Oh dear. Take care, and a kiss to all of you! x

Disclaimer: I do not, unfortunately, own Harry Potter.

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><p>11th August<p>

It was a relatively bright day in Wiltshire, England. The sun rose steadily, and a few clouds softly glided across the great, infinite sky, sometimes blocking the blinding rays of scorching heat. Birds began to welcome the early-risers with their heart-warming, musical voices that spoke only of their good-nature and kindness.

In contrast to the beautiful, enticing sounds of Mother Nature's finest, a grand house stood tall against the waking day. Though the building was striking in itself, it seemed dull and cold when compared to the sun's pure, golden rays and the bird's peaceful songs.

A few birds left the safety of their branched homes to fly higher and higher in the endless sky, to soar swiftly over the many trees, the clouds, and even above the rising sun.

Through a window on the second floor of the elegant manor, a fireplace sat quietly. Fresh logs had been replaced, ready and waiting to be burnt, due to the previous cold night. Whilst all traces of ash had been quickly swept away. The fireplace was made of smooth, dark stone, faintly resembling the dark red of a brick, and was very large. Around it was a grand, cream-coloured marble arch that highlighted the lavish fireplace. The entire study was panelled in rich, walnut hardwood that gleamed brilliantly in the light. A large, subtly patterned rug covered most of the wooden floor. To the right of the fireplace was a black leather armchair that rested on dark wooden legs. Next to it was a small drawer of the same colour as the legs of the armchair. There were three draws, all on the same row, and they balanced on four spindle legs. On top of the drawer were a big candelabra and a half-full glass bottle of brandy.

In the armchair sat a man, clad in fine robes. He rose, heading to the window, a glass of alcohol sitting in his right hand. The man contemplated the area outside of the window, as if in waiting for an important event. The view from his study allowed him to see the very gates of his home, the gates that only allowed entry to a select few. Idly he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip of the liquid in deep thought. The man had been in his study for a while now, keenly watching the end of the path leading to the manor for any signs of life. Then, a flicker of movement caught his eye. His grey orbs focused, anxiously awaiting the news, wishing more than anything that it be good news he would hear. At last, a man in dark robes walked quickly towards the wrought-iron gates. Upon reaching them, the stranger continued forward, not stopping even as he got within an inch of the gates. Then, miraculously, instead of hitting the sturdy gates, he dispersed into smoke. The grey-black smoke travelled past the gates until they suddenly swam together, colliding. And at once, the smoke transformed into the stranger once more, who carried on walking as if nothing happened. This whole display was over in a matter of seconds, and if an unlucky fellow watching had so much as blinked, he would have missed it completely.

Turning, the silver-haired man left his study and made his way downstairs to meet his guest.

"Macnair." At reaching the door, Lucius Malfoy had opened it widely in civil welcoming. The Death Eaters nodded to each other, before entering the empty drawing room.

"Lucius. I gave the letter to Potter."

Grey eyes sharply met those of Macnair.

"Has he replied?"

"Yes. Though I don't know what he has said, the letter remains sealed." Macnair handed Lucius the envelope. It was the same colour as Lucius' letter, and like his, it was blank.

"Ah yes, it would be best if the Dark Lord were to read it first." Lucius readily agreed.

"I also have something to discuss with the Dark Lord, Lucius."

"Very well. Come this way." He guided Macnair upstairs, until they were at the doors intricately engraved with snakes.

Lucius lifted his left hand and placed it on the handle of one of the doors. At his touch, the Death Eater felt the handle move, as if shivering. It was responding to the Dark Mark on his arm, the proof of his eternal allegiance to Lord Voldemort, willing or not. The two men stood quietly, their eyes remaining on the passive doors. Then, in the silence, a small 'click!' could be heard from within the doors. Lucius let go of the door and stepped back. Slowly, the doors opened, allowing them to pass through. As they did, the seemingly alive doors slammed shut behind them. The two men paled slightly but continued onward. They were effectively trapped, and both Death Eaters were painfully aware of the fact. Nervously, they headed towards the door to their left, Lord Voldemort's study. Gathering his courage, the silver-haired man knocked politely on the door, preparing for their master's response.

All was silent inside. The anxiety in the air was heavy and suffocating. Almost like they were in a hospital, or a home belonging to the elderly. As if the mood itself was poisonous and deadly. The air seemed to tell of the troubles ahead, of the dangerous man whose presence was beyond that very door. Then, a voice spoke silkily from the darkness, the same darkness that seemed to clench both of their hearts in an icy grip. The voice hissed.

"You may enter."

Without further ado, Lucius opened the door to hell and entered. Inside a small part of their minds, the two Death Eaters regretted their actions, simply because of the overwhelming power of their master. He alone was a force to be reckoned with.

The door opened fully to reveal a well-furnished study. Standing to the right of the window was Lord Voldemort, his ever-present aura sending just the right amount of fear into his followers. Turning to face them fully, his crimson eyes gazed at the two in interest and expectation. It was not worth wondering about what would happen if the Death Eaters did not meet their Lord's expectations. Painful consequences were an absolute certainty.

"Lucius and Macnair…I trust you have a good reason for entering my quarters?" Voldemort inquired dangerously.

Both Death Eaters bowed at the waist slightly, before meeting Voldemort's intense gaze again. There was hardly a time when Lord Voldemort's followers were granted permission to enter his private quarters. Anyone foolish enough to try without a satisfactory reason would be dealt with most severely. In light of this fact, the two could only hope the information within the letter would prove to be sufficient enough.

"My Lord, Potter has replied to the letter." Lucius held up the letter for the Dark Lord to see. To this statement, the snake-like man held out his hand in silence, the order all too clear.

Lucius stepped forward at his master's consent. Handing the letter to Voldemort, he remained standing at the desk until further orders. Almost dismissively to the somewhat lacking company of the others, Lord Voldemort lowered himself into his seat to peer curiously at the letter in his hands, before opening it. As he read the contents, a slight crease began to form at the corners of his mouth, telling of his just-noticeable pleasure. The two Death Eaters stood still, barely daring to breathe lest they anger their Lord.

_Very interesting. It seems as if the boy regards the prophecy with the same doubt as I…My 'supposed' downfall? Could it be…that he has never truly believed he could win against me? Has he been fighting with no hope of survival?_

As his red orbs glanced over the words that showed Harry's dislike for the Ministry, Voldemort couldn't help but chuckle quietly.

_It seems as if Harry's trip to Azkaban has only helped to make our similarities all the more clearer. To think we now have a shared opinion of the snivelling cowards of the Ministry. Do I detect a hint of a joke? Such idiocy…joking in such a situation about the conduct of my Death Eaters' in retrieving information. _To his thoughts, Voldemort shook his head in humour.

Up to this point, the loyalties of Harry Potter hadn't been established. But as Voldemort looked upon the end of the second paragraph, he immediately took note of the distrust evident in the boy's writing.

_He doesn't deny it. Ah how refreshing to see he no longer harbours any childish notions of his predicament being a misunderstanding. Perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived has finally opened his eyes._

Frowning, the Dark Lord regarded the boy's troubled thoughts in his letter. _He still has a lingering hope for his friends. There's that Gryffindor foolishness of his, though it is much fainter than before. But to not blindly put his faith in someone in a time of dire need…Harry's more careful than I expected._

Narrowing his eyes, Voldemort noticed Harry's hesitation for branding Dumbledore a complete liar.

_That meddlesome fool has already begun to feed his excuses to the boy. I won't allow him to use this particular puppet, not any more._

_A once in a lifetime request, hmm? Ah Harry you really are a source of entertainment for me. I shall be all too happy to help you, though you should know by now that nothing ever comes for free. There is always a price. Could it be that he has been deliberately separated from the other prisoners? I certainly wouldn't put it past the Ministry. If that's true…the number of possible cells for the boy would have been significantly reduced. Oh Dumbledore…are you truly doing my work for me, you old fool?_

For a few minutes the three remained motionless, two in nervousness and one in barely masked amusement. Then, the Dark Lord placed the letter onto his desk, clearly in deep thought on the pressing matter of Harry Potter.

Voldemort let out a sudden laugh, startling his Death Eaters.

"This is a very promising situation in which we find ourselves. It is as I suspected, the boy wants answers. He is confused and vulnerable. Now is the perfect opportunity to gain some of his trust, by giving him some of the answers he so desperately craves. Though the boy is cautious, wary. I believe Azkaban has knocked some of his Gryffindor spirit out of him. So we must be careful to not make him suspicious of our intentions, even if he knows where your loyalties lie, Lucius." Lord Voldemort explained.

"What has he said, My Lord?" Lucius asked.

The Dark Lord met the gaze of the silver-haired man, who had to restrain himself from swallowing in reflex due to the fear of overstepping his boundaries. Thankfully for him, the snake-like man continued as if no one else had spoken.

"He wishes to know why he is in Azkaban. You see, Lucius, the boy has been placed in there for killing his muggle relatives. For reasons that are not yet known to us, neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry spared Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Instead they have treated him like a common criminal, and sentenced him to life in prison. Needless to say, his trust in Dumbledore has suffered because of it, but still the old fool tries to reclaim the boy." Voldemort smirked at Lucius, before carrying on.

"He asks for your help, Lucius, despite knowing you are a Death Eater. Our poor Golden Boy is truly desperate. Dumbledore's not the only one who can inform the boy of the outside world. No, through these letters Harry will see our unbiased account of what has transpired. Through us, he shall learn the truth of the situation and then turn away from Dumbledore for good. But before we try to shy him away from the old man, we will have to prove that we mean no harm to him. If the boy should find even the faintest glimmer of hope through us, we'll have him." Lord Voldemort assured cunningly.

"And so, Lucius, you will write to the boy again. Do not give too much away, we must ensure to capture his interest enough so he will readily reply again. Explain to him that it is just as he thought; only a few know where he really is. The public believe he is safe, they suspect nothing. Subtly suggest there is a way for him to escape, but that he can tell no one. This is to make sure the boy doesn't suddenly feel the suicidal need to spill all of his secrets to Dumbledore. Also tell him of the Ministry's manipulations, of the corrupted trial. We must show the lies of the Light at all costs."

Throughout Voldemort's plan, the Death Eaters had begun to release some of their stiffness from standing so still, so anxious. By their master's tone, it was clear that the letter had provided enough information to warrant them disturbing their Lord.

"It seems the boy believes he has nothing to offer. This is fortunate. A person is more likely to divulge information if they believe it to be meaningless. We must find out more about Dumbledore's visits with him. If we can get the boy to admit of such meetings, we can question him about them. Knowing Harry, he shall feel the need to 'give back'; he won't refuse to answer if he thinks the knowledge has no bearing in his situation. This is crucial if we are to sway the boy's allegiance. If the boy should choose to not reply, I have one final piece of information to give him that even he can't dismiss. Now, leave Lucius." The Dark Lord ordered.

Quickly bowing, Lucius exited the room, thankful to be away from Lord Voldemort's terrifying presence and the pressure he bore onto them all.

Once at the door, another faint 'click!' was heard. The doors opened in accordance to Voldemort's will, allowing Lucius by as he travelled to his own study in which to write the ever-important letter. Said letter was the starting point of the foundation of the shaky trust between Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy.

Back inside Lord Voldemort's study, Macnair stood in the middle of the room as the Dark Lord assessed him.

"And what information is so important that you felt the need to disturb me, Macnair?"

"I-I have tried to find where Potter's cell is, My Lord. No one but the guards can escort the prisoners. I know his cell is at the top of Azkaban, but beyond the staircase there are numerous guards patrolling in almost every hallway." Macnair answered, stuttering briefly before amending himself.

Standing slowly, Voldemort looked upon his follower.

"So you came here to tell me of your failure? Is that correct, Macnair?"

Horrified, Macnair rushed to apologize.

"My Lord, I'm-"

"Silence! I will not tolerate your pitiful apologies, Macnair. I see we have hit upon a problem. We cannot alert the Ministry of you true identity, yet we must find out where the boy's cell is. I must think this through carefully. For now, continue to follow the boy and his guard, try to establish which direction he is led to. Lucius will notify you when he has finished the letter. Now go." Voldemort turned to face the large window, the pleasant scenery being the last thing on his mind.

Even the bright fields of green and the colourful flowers didn't register to him. The only image burned into his mind was of Harry Potter, just out of his reach.

_There's no time to waste, and yet I can do nothing. How infuriating._

Recalling Harry's letter, Voldemort chuckled quietly.

"Such a troublesome child…"

_Ah Harry how wrong you are. You're no use to me insane. So continue to put faith in your friends for the time being. For when I get my hold on you, you'll see how misguided your trust really is. Until then…_

_-HP-_

15th August

The past night had been the worst in a long time for the young prisoner. Blinking, the boy swallowed, grimacing as the action irritated his raw throat. The pain throbbed, as if rising out of his throat. All of a sudden he felt the urge to throw up, but due to his empty stomach he could only dry heave. On all fours, his form trembled as he sobbed quietly, his stomach lurching uncomfortably. Finally getting a hold of himself, the boy sat up and leaned against the wall. Dimly he wiped the tears from his pale face, noting in relief that the pain in his throat had receded from a scorching burn to a dull, albeit fierce one. Catching a glimpse of his hand, the boy saw the nails on his fingers. They had grown a bit since he had last noticed, and were rather dirty from all the grime that had gathered beneath them. Inspecting himself further, he looked at his arms, the very arms that were slightly yellow from the healing bruises. His skin looked odd, even to himself. It was too pale, inhumanly so. Like the effects of being out of the sun, being without the nourishment of vitamin D, were already beginning to show. Such little changes in ones' appearance could shadow the very being, making them unnoticeable. As if the very experiences met full force by such a strong child could mould the person, instead of the person changing said experiences. Are we so mouldable? So easily changed by events not within our own power? An unpleasant feeling arose in the boy's mind. _Have I changed that much? Would my friends recognise me if they could see me now? _It bothered him that he couldn't immediately answer 'Yes, they would realise who I am'.

His eyes felt strangely too big, like the tears they had shed had somehow caused them to expand. The blood-shot red veins protruding from his pupils were quite frightening against his dull green orbs. Shuddering, he closed his eyes, wishing not for the first time that he could go to sleep and never wake.

As you guessed, it was not to be. Fate would not let such an interesting boy go so easily. Not until he had amused it 'til his very last breath. In a few hours, the young prisoner was rudely woken once again by a guard and led systematically to the healer's office. It seemed as if he had somehow established a routine within the confinement of such a chaotic place. Morbidly, Azkaban reminded him of a type of limbo. The prisoners were trapped, unable to live and unable to die. They were desensitised to the world, becoming more and more like the dementors they so quickly feared. The poor prisoners who had 'lived' here for years were easy to point out. The quiet, shaking characters, who were more like shadows than humans. But the mumbling, rocking figures were on their way to becoming just like them. In time, their own eyes would become dull, glass-like. Their bodies would become mere breathing shells, this world appearing dead in their lifeless eyes. Even their own family wouldn't so much as stir feelings of love or regret. The prisoners wouldn't even spare their flesh and blood a single glance. In here, mercy was a word, nothing more. The infamous 'Avada Kedavra' curse would be a miracle to these desperate creatures, and the caster a Godsend. For what was the point of fearing death, when you couldn't take 'living' any longer? And what was the use of 'living' if you had wished your blasted existence to end for so many years?

It was these terrible thoughts that Harry met the healer with as they resumed their regular seats at the desk. The infernal clock was still stubbornly ticking, refusing to give up even in this dismal prison. Sighing, Harry clasped his hands together in front of him in order to lessen the minute trembles. Harry felt a pair of crystal blue eyes focus on him, the hairs stood up on his neck as he fought the urge to meet said gaze.

"Are you well, Potter?" The healer asked offhandedly.

"_Are you well? Are you well? Are…you…well…?" _The voice echoed inside his head, it's condescending tone causing Harry to grit his teeth in frustration.

Abruptly, Harry remembered his heated conversation with Dumbledore. In response he lashed out with more bite than was necessary, glaring at the healer.

"I'm not mad!" Harry barked out, narrowing his eyes that shone bright in anger.

Raising his eyebrow, the healer smirked at the young prisoner, not at all fazed by the reaction.

"Well, that's certainly a relief to hear. But what I meant was, are you ill? You look quite distraught compared to yesterday. Has seeing your mentor upset you?" The healer inquired carefully.

Frowning, Harry turned his gaze to the desk.

"I-I'm fine, just tired." Harry remained reserved.

"Ah I see. So, did you enjoy seeing your mentor?"

_Why is it any of his business? _Harry thought angrily, before feeling a tinge of regret. _No, I shouldn't say that, he's been okay with me…even if he is creepy. I bet the staff already know that Dumbledore has been here, he's not exactly ordinary._

Sighing again as it seemed the healer wouldn't drop the subject until he had said something about the matter, Harry gave up.

"No, I didn't."

"Oh? Did you have an argument?" The healer asked in interest.

"Something like that."

"Why didn't you tell them to leave?"

"I tried to. But he was allowed to stay for at least a few minutes."

Macnair's eyes lit up at the knowledge. Harry had inadvertently provided the gender of his visitor. Though that wasn't much to go off, it was a start. And with the boy's guarded, short answers, anything was better than nothing at this point.

"Well I'm sure if you speak to the guards about it they will reconsider, if you strongly wish to not see him. Or I could even inquire about it, if you want?" The healer assured, smiling towards the stunned boy.

"Ah – erm…" _Do I really want him to? What if Dumbledore really does come back? I don't want to cause a disturbance…it would be bad if anyone was to find out…_

"_Are you feeling any better...better…better?"_

Looking up, Harry stared directly into the healer's eyes in grim determination. Suddenly, he let out a blinding smile, full of mischief, like a child about to pull a prank. A rush throughout his body left him tingling in joy. He felt daring, crazy, like he was on an adrenaline high. _I'll do it…I'll do it!_

"Yes, that would be brilliant. Thank you."

Not used to this side of the boy, the healer briefly wondered if this was a trap, a joke. It was like breathing life into a doll, the stoic features had literally flickered and come alive. His bright Avada Kedavra eyes glistened in weird animation.

"Alright. I promise to do what I can. Who, may I ask, is the man?"

For a moment, Harry appeared confused. _How does he not know Dumbledore? _In normal circumstances, the doubt would have stopped him from replying almost immediately, yet he was far too excited to stop. After being almost emotionless for so long, Harry felt almost drunk on the thrill of the moment. He was defying Dumbledore, something he had never even considered. And it felt great. If every deadened shell in this morbid place would feel even a fraction of his delight right now, the whole of Azkaban would be full of grinning, laughing idiots. The guards would probably sedate them in fear of the many possible outcomes should the prisoners be left to themselves.

"Albus Dumbledore." Harry said, still grinning. As a bubble of excitement travelled up his throat, he let out a shaky laugh.

Troubled, the healer frowned. The mention of his and his Lords' enemy was never good.

"Has he visited you often?" He dared to ask, sensing the boy's charitable mood.

"Twice."

"And what did he say he wants?"

"To help me, I think. I don't know anymore. He – He said I should trust him. Do you think I should?" Harry asked.

It was a vulnerable question, one not to be taken lightly. Barely restraining a smile, the healer continued. _This is a better outcome than I could have ever hoped for. The boy is seeking answers from me!_

"Dumbledore's a complicated character, Potter. You see, not much is known about him. For example, did you know he had a sister? And a brother?"

"N-No…I didn't know that."

"Why do you think you shouldn't trust him?"

"He's…lied to me. More than once. And at the trial – he…acted as though I was lying!" Harry said, becoming a little uneasy about the direction the conversation was taking.

"Do you feel as though he has betrayed you, Potter?"

This was it, and they both knew it. The question that was bound to arise sooner or later.

"…Yes." Harry hung his head at that, the words coming out of his own lips was undeniable truth. Harry Potter had changed. Though for better or for worse, it was too early to tell.

_Or maybe it wasn't me who changed. Maybe…he was always this way? But what can I do? Apart from stopping him from visiting me…I can't just stay in here whilst everyone dies!...Was he right? Will everyone die because of what I've done? I-I'm a-_

A hand clutched his shoulder, sending a jolt throughout his body. Startled, Harry ripped his gaze from the desk to meet the eyes of the ever-smiling healer, who was at his side. He hadn't even seen the man move.

"Do you think he has kept more things from you?"

"…Probably, yes." Harry dreaded to know what.

"Do you think he would lie to you again?"

Widening his eyes, Harry could only gaze at the healer. No words would form; instead he forced himself to think. _Would he lie to me again? Has he already lied to me whilst I've been in here?_

"I-I don't know." Harry finally answered uncertainly.

Macnair viewed the boy with curiosity. _It's not time yet, I shouldn't push him any further._

"I see. Well, we've gone quite off topic now, haven't we? Before we are disturbed again, I'd best give you the letter I was unable to give you yesterday. Here." Reaching inside his desk, the healer acquired the desired letter and handed it to the pale boy.

Sitting back in his chair, he observed the prisoner in interest. He was almost unrecognizable to the risky, rash boy at the Ministry who had proudly stood against many of the Death Eaters in order to protect his friends. This person in front of him was extremely careful of the world around them, to a fault even. As if he expected danger to close in around him from every corner. The boy resembled a deer, a wild prey that had to be constantly on the alert. Their bright, glossy, wide eyes stared in fear around them in the silence, as their whole form stood stock still. Harry Potter, whilst being a household name in the Wizarding world, was really nothing more than a fearful child who was forced to grow up early and face the world's imperfections. He was just a poor boy who nobody took the time to know or understand, who has gotten so used to fighting for his life that expecting his own sudden death was nothing to be remotely surprised about. This boy, who used to walk the streets at night expecting to be killed at any moment. However who could not go back to his relatives' house as no mercy would be given, and the punishments would be arguably worse.

And so, with caution, Harry opened the letter. It read:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I am glad you decided to reply back to my letter. I must thank you for being so blunt, it has made it so there are no facades between us._

_As for finding out where you were, you forget that I am a Ministry official. You could say I have friends in high places. I applaud your intellect, and agree with you completely. The Ministry has indeed been keeping your situation on a need-to-know basis. So easy to give in, Potter? I thought you were more resilient than that. You never struck me as one who followed the rules completely. Though I can understand your low spirits._

_Listen to me clearly, Potter. Your sentence was unjust. The only recent life sentences that have been given are for Death Eaters, and I'm sure you know as well as I how far you are from fitting into that particular category. I assure you that the public was not alerted to your trial, and remain clueless. In actuality, the masses believe you are perfectly safe._

_Whilst I anticipated your hesitance to trust me, I'm afraid there is no time for such matters. You see, Potter, I have no reason to lie. Why would I trouble myself to contact you if I was lying? With you in Azkaban, the Dark Lord can act freely and without any need to consider the actions of the Boy-Who-Lived. It may surprise you to know that I feel no satisfaction knowing you're in Azkaban. Nevertheless, I do not waste my time. I wouldn't contact you if I knew there was no way for you to escape._

_This may be hard for you to hear, but your friends can't help you now. It's too late. What I have said is the absolute truth, only I can help you now, Potter. Unless you'd rather wait for a miraculous rescue? In that case, I'm afraid you'd have to wait a rather long time and be in even less condition to effectively escape. I know you are troubled, but I can only encourage you to hold on and listen to me. _

_As for your request, I fully accept it. Yet do not think this comes for free, you have acknowledged who I am and I shan't disappoint you with any type of falsehood. I suggest a compromise. I will answer your questions, and in turn you shall answer mine. I am most curious as to how your situation came about so suddenly. What happened? _

_As to your own question, I'm afraid I do not have all the information, yet I can only assume due to the Ministry's attempt to disguise your location that you have been placed in Azkaban to ensure your whereabouts at all times. You are being watched very closely, Potter. A plan is forming behind the scenes that concerns you directly. Do you see now, Potter? You are not safe there, maybe you never have been._

_As for your cell, I wouldn't deny the possibility of the Ministry purposefully separating you from everyone else. If anyone was to see you and inform a visiting relative, it would be only a matter of time before everyone finds out, and that would only serve to trouble the Ministry._

_You said Dumbledore told you of a close call with a dementor's kiss? Has he visited you since the trial?_

_I would be grateful to hear from you again._

_With regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Placing the letter on the desk with shaking hands, Harry sat still for a few moments, completely absorbed in his thoughts. _Only certain people in the Ministry know where I am? I can't believe that. I-I'll need proof. How could I be given a life sentence…when the only others who received them are Death Eaters? How can I be compared to those people who torture and kill for fun? Who can happily kill someone for being a muggle?_

It was unthinkable, that such a boy could be compared to those he has stood up against on frequent occasions, even risking his life in the process. It was like everything he had ever done for anybody was being ripped to shreds, as if worthless, and being thrown back in his face.

_How…can everybody think I'm safe? Without seeing me? What lies have the Ministry come up with? B-But Mr Malfoy's right…he has no reason to lie! He's answering my questions…I just don't know if I should trust him. Though his terms are fair. A question for a question, an answer for an answer. I'll have to reply back. I can't leave it at that. I have to find out more, whatever I can, at all costs._

With that, Harry requested for a piece of parchment with which he would write a reply to Lucius Malfoy. The only sound, apart from the clock, being the furious scribbling sound of a quill meeting parchment.

_-HP-_

15th August

In a large kitchen, many people were sat around a worn, wooden table. All of them sat anxiously, their faces set deeply with frowns that portrayed their growing worry. The event must surely have been of great importance, for never have the members of the Order of the Phoenix appeared so solemn, so tense.

At last, the front door opened and in came an elderly man with a long, grey beard. He was wearing bright purple robes that seemed to dim all other colours around it with its vibrancy. Noticeably, everyone stiffened as he entered, and any conversations that had begun had abruptly stopped. The man walked cheerfully to the table, as he was greeted by Mrs Weasley.

"Oh Albus, I'm glad you have come. Please, sit down."

"Thank you, my dear. I'm not as young as I used to be." He chuckled.

Silently everyone regarded him, such laughter was dismissed in as serious a situation as this.

After he was guided to a seat by the shaken Mrs Weasley, everyone turned to face him in expectation. Molly Weasley quickly returned to her seat, eager to hear the old man's words.

"Albus…please tell me he's okay. It's been too long since we've heard from you. C-Can we see him now? We're all awfully worried about him!" Molly cried, unable to help herself.

"I know, Molly my dear, I know. And I beg you to forgive me. The poor boy took a sudden turn for the worse and I feared any extra effort on his part would only cause him further harm. But he's fine now. Harry's such an immensely strong boy, I never thought he'd get over the traumatic events." Dumbledore said softly, reassuring them all greatly of the health of Harry Potter. Though he didn't notice a pair of coal black eyes gazing at him in suspicion, almost as unnoticeable as shadows themselves.

"So is he okay now, Albus? Does this mean we can see him?" Lupin asked in relief.

"Yes, Harry has fully recovered. I will bring him here myself, I daresay a few friendly faces would do the boy wonders about now. All I ask is two more days. Two more days for Harry to rest and prepare himself for the journey." Dumbledore said.

"Alright, Albus. I'd be willing to assist you in bringing Harry here." Arthur Weasley offered.

"No, no. I shall be capable of escorting Harry myself, thank you Arthur." Dumbledore replied kindly.

The entire room visibly relaxed, thrilled at the idea of seeing their dear friend Harry Potter in but a few days' time, all but one. Severus Snape, who was stood in a corner observed the twinkling-eyed headmaster in hesitation, unsure of his claims.

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do, Albus?" Moody asked roughly.

"Yes, I'm certain Alastor. I'm sorry to have troubled you all. I admit for the past few days, I haven't left Harry's side." Dumbledore confessed, causing Mrs Weasley to smile.

"Oh Albus, thank you. Thank you for taking care of Harry. Merlin knows what he would've done without you!" Mrs Weasley uttered in gratitude.

"Yes, well I have grown quite fond of Harry. In truth, he is like a Grandson to me."

Turning to look sharply at Severus, Dumbledore's smiling face became serious.

"Has Voldemort-" A shiver ran through everyone bar Dumbledore at the use of the Dark Lord's name. "-informed you of any news regarding Harry's disappearance, Severus?"

The Order looked at the bat-like man at the mention of his name. Snape, who stood furthest away from the rest, spoke clearly.

"He has not received any new information regarding Potter's whereabouts. However, he now suspects the Ministry is involved."

"I see. Thank you, Severus. Well then I must take my leave, I shall see you all in two days." Dumbledore said kindly, twinkling eyes and all.

The rest of the Order quickly dispersed after a few niceties were given. Bidding each other farewell, they all stepped into the cloudy day. Behind them was a single, sharp 'Crack!' followed by a series of them. Once finished, the Burrow was quiet once more, save for the random clucking of chickens and the clattering of pots.

_-HP-_

It is midday on the 15th of August. In the right wing of Malfoy Manor, two men resided in a darkening study room. One man stood in front of the desk and was dressed in dark robes. The other was a more terrifying man, who appeared skeletal due to his incredibly pale, bony face. But his bright red eyes were the main focus of fear. He sat in his chair, whilst his blood-red eyes roamed across a letter with the utmost concentration.

It read:

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_I write this to you in regards to the compromise you offered. I accept it and will answer all I can within reason, in return for you answering my own questions._

_I will make this as short as I can, for I think we can both agree that time is of the essence. Being a Ministry official certainly explains a lot, yet I can't readily trust that only a few Ministry members and Dumbledore know where I am. Have you got any proof for such a claim?_

_As for rules, I've always made an effort to stick by them, it just seems like trouble follows me wherever I go. This time is no different. I never thought I'd see the day where you would be defending me, Mr Malfoy. I still don't understand why._

_You make a valid point about having no reason to lie. But does that mean there's truly a way for me to escape from here alive?_

_What happened? I was forced to kill my three muggle relatives. I'm not proud of it, nor will I ever be. But I can't find it in myself to regret it. They deserved what they got._

_You mean to say I'm only here so I can't wander off? Who would want to keep such a close eye on me, apart from your master? You make it sound like I am in danger from the Light! The Ministry may not like me, may even hate me, but I doubt they'd try to hurt me in here. There's no point._

_If you give me proof that what you say about my friends, about everyone is true, then I will believe you. Until then, I can't. I'm sorry._

_Concerning Dumbledore, yes he has visited me in here, though I'm trying hard to make sure he can no longer do so._

_Waiting for your answers,_

_Harry Potter_

"Interesting. I didn't expect him to reply so quickly, and so prepared to compromise. The boy is intelligent, more so than he wants us to believe. You are dismissed Macnair, send for Lucius immediately." Voldemort said.

_To think I'd be offering the Boy-Who-Lived a chance to escape from Azkaban…_He chuckled quietly. _But he is still resisting against the truth…I may have to play my final piece of information after all. As I cannot pass up on this opportunity to finally gain Harry Potter's trust. Ah Harry how you've changed…you really have become such a delightful little boy! You don't regret killing your relatives? I share the same feelings towards my own pitiful muggle father. I shall make good use of your trust, Harry…_

It was slowly turning dark, the sun was gently lowering, and two men were conversing quickly in Lord Voldemort's study. Then, as fast as he came, the silver-haired man bowed and left. This allowed Voldemort to wonder about the matter of Harry Potter once again, before the scheduled Death Eater meeting that was to be held later that night. As the sky began to fill with midnight blue, a slight wind started to pick up outside. Nonetheless, Lord Voldemort sat in his study, remaining still as the area around him grew black, the only thing clearly visible in the blackness being his own crimson orbs.

_-HP-_

It is late in the evening of the 15th of August. The Death Eaters were once again surrounding the table in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. A fire was crackling brightly in the silence, taking full advantage of the dry logs that lay so helplessly in its burning inferno. At the head of the table sat the Dark Lord. It was clear in his eyes that the time was drawing near for not only was there a daunting worry for failure, but primarily there was an air of excitement. All the seats were filled, and each person desperately looked towards Voldemort, eager for but a portion of his seductive power.

"It has been a while since you have all been present for such gatherings. You may note that Severus has returned. He has ensured me of his loyalty, and so shall be given a chance to redeem himself. You said you had an important message, Severus?" The Dark Lord spoke strongly, setting the meeting into motion quickly.

Bowing before he spoke, Severus answered truthfully.

"Yes, My Lord. Dumbledore has recently held a meeting for the Order, in which he told us that he would be bringing Potter to the Weasley's home in exactly two days."

A hiss of anger travelled around the room, all the Death Eaters showing their hatred for Dumbledore to their master. To the news, Voldemort simply narrowed his eyes.

"This is troubling. We have no time to spare, we must find out where the boy's cell is as soon as possible. Do you have the letter, Lucius?"

"Yes, My Lord." Withdrawing it from his robes, Lucius Malfoy held it up.

Holding out his hand, the letter suddenly moved to the Dark Lord's open palm. The feat of wandless, non-verbal magic was almost child's play to Voldemort as he silently opened the letter and read the contents. After a few minutes, the Dark Lord released the letter, only for it to set alight and cascade slowly onto the table where it blackened, and folded in disfigurement. The words in the letter were lost as it quickly turned to grey powdery-dust.

Lucius looked uncertainly at Voldemort, unsure if he had done something wrong.

"M-My Lord?"

"The boy is too clever to be tricked by mere wordplay, Lucius. He will not trust us until we can offer him undeniable evidence that what we have said is the truth." Voldemort explained calmly.

"But what evidence can we give him, My Lord?"

"Come now, Lucius. Surely you are aware of the Daily Prophet? I can think of the perfect article that would successfully gain the boy's trust." With a quick wave of his wand, a newspaper landed in front of him, which he picked up and opened. "Ah, yes. This should do fine. 'Harry Potter – The Boy-Who-Lived, Safe and Well.' Quite an ironic title, wouldn't you say?" The Dark Lord grinned maliciously.

"With this, the boy cannot refuse the truth. With the Ministry's help, we shall have Harry Potter!" He suddenly laughed, causing an uproar. All of the Death Eaters instantly began to laugh. Macnair released a huge chuckle, Lucius smirked, and Bellatrix's ear-splitting cackle rebounded around the room.

Waving his wand again, the Dark Lord's actions stilled them all. Though all that appeared was a piece of parchment, an envelope and a bottle of ink. With the wand, Voldemort made another motion, causing ink to suddenly sprawl along the parchment. The ink was a blood-red colour, in an old cursive script and it read simply:

_I have given you proof that is undeniable. Now tell me, where exactly is your cell?_

Another flicker of his wand caused the parchment to fold neatly, along with the newspaper extract. Then after placing it in the envelope, Voldemort wordlessly sent it to Macnair.

"You will give this to the boy immediately tomorrow. We have only two days to gather this last piece of information. You are dismissed." Voldemort rose to gaze into the fire. A distant hissing grew louder, until his familiar, Nagini, entered and slithered up to his side.

"The time has come, Nagini. Soon I shall have the boy." He hissed, absently stroking her soft scales.

_-HP-_

16th August

Their footsteps were echoing loudly against the stone floor. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, Harry wondered why he was being called to the healers' office so early. It felt like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. _What's the rush? Has the healer got somewhere else he has to go?_

Harry's charitable mood of yesterday was long since gone, and as he stared at the healer in annoyance, he couldn't help but think he'd rather miss a meeting for one day and go back to sleep. The man wasn't having any of it though and continued to try and encourage Harry to talk.

"I have another letter for you today, Potter. You are getting popular, aren't you?" The healer said, grinning.

Harry couldn't help but smirk at the ridiculous comment, which only helped to make the healer grin wider. Handing over the letter to the boy, Harry was surprised to see a newspaper clipping amongst the parchment. _Could this be…the proof I was asking for? _With no more hesitation, he drank the words up greedily, thankful for any information given, trivial or not.

The title of the extract had the emerald-eyed boy pausing for a minute in disbelief, before continuing on hurriedly. As he read on, the disbelief and shock grew.

"N-No…" He whispered.

_Why? Why would someone do this? It's true…Oh God it's true. No one knows I am here. I'll never get out of here!_

"_He shall be in the care of Albus Dumbledore."_

Rage boiled throughout his veins, pulsing, singing to be let out. Harry stood up and stumbled, gasping for air. His hands twitched, longing to feel his own magic, which had been building up for some weeks, as if waiting for this very moment. Suddenly, a hand was reaching towards him, and he panicked blindly.

"Potter…"

"NO!" He yelled.

His whole body seemed on fire, he felt hot and sweaty. Lethargically, he staggered to the side, clutching his wheezing chest. As soon as he let out the yell, he felt himself gasp as a build-up of power seemed to pass throughout his body.

'SMASH!'

The windows on the far end of the wall shattered loudly, sending glass shards everywhere. The door opened, and a guard rushed in. Instantly he grasped Harry roughly, who was only able to stand due to the guard's grip.

"What was that? Are you ok, sir?" The guard asked breathing heavily, seemingly ignoring the boy wobbling on his feet.

"I'm fine. It was just an accident. Mr Potter there looks a little shaken up. He might need to be taken to the hospital." The healer said seriously, while inside laughing merrily at such a display of accidental magic.

"No…I'm alright." Harry said, regaining his breath.

"I'll take him to his cell now, sir. Are you sure you're alright?" The guard questioned again before leaving.

"Yes, I'm perfectly alright. Until tomorrow, Mr Potter." The healer finished, intent on repairing his broken window. Only, the guard's following words halted him.

"Ah I'm sorry sir, but I've received orders not to allow Mr Potter out of his cell tomorrow." The guard apologized in embarrassment, and continued to escort Harry upstairs.

As he was placed on the bed, Harry sleepily realised he never got to read the letter, before drifting into an exhausted sleep.

_-HP-_

17th August

It was in the afternoon. A pale, snake-like man sat in his chair whilst he listened closely to his follower's words.

_I should have known that old fool would have tried to stop me from getting the boy. Confining the boy to his cell all day? How petty._

The Dark Lord's features flashed angrily.

"So, you say the boy was unable to read the letter?"

"Y-Yes, My Lord." Macnair stammered.

Voldemort looked around his study for a moment, before fixing his gaze back on Macnair.

"Crucio"

No word of warning was given as Macnair crashed feebly to the floor, writhing uncontrollably as he was subjected to endless torture. Lord Voldemort rose and moved around the table to stand before the screaming Death Eater. As the Dark Lord released the curse, he leaned down to grasp Macnair's black hair in his spider-like hands. Wrenching his hair upwards, Macnair was forced to try to lean upwards and support his weight, to take some pressure off his searing scalp. However, Voldemort ensured he could grab nothing. Gasping and quivering in pain, he could only hang by his hair, hoping the pressure would be released soon. Lowering his head to the side of Macnair's, Lord Voldemort whispered in his ear dangerously soft. His breath hitting the trembling neck of his follower.

"If I should lose Harry Potter, you shall be the first to die." He released the grip on Macnair and walked back to his chair, where he sat in frustration.

"Now get out of my sight before I decide to kill you where you stand."

"Y-Yes M-My Lord." Macnair gasped, staggering out of the room.

_The boy does not know what I want from him, nor will he find out if I cannot find a way to contact him!_

Suddenly, a wave of despair hit Voldemort so fast that for a moment, he believed the despair to be his. Wand in hand, he forced himself to relax. Anger…ferocious anger fuelled his very own, leaving him shaking.

_This…is…Harry! The link I thought I had sealed off…has opened again. Is this because of our high emotions colliding against each other at the same time?_

_N-No…How could they do this? Oh God, I won't ever get out of here!_

Startled, Voldemort realised the voice in his head was actually Harry Potter, and not himself.

_If I can see into his mind…I'll be able to see where he is!_

"_Harry!…Harry!"… NOOO!_

Rushes of thoughts and feelings were crashing into Voldemort's mind like huge waves. As soon as he was almost through, another wave would come sending him right back to where he started. His eyes had shut in concentration, his thin body shivered under the torrent of emotions.

Finally, he broke through.

He was sitting huddled in a corner. The walls were bare stone, and a bed lay overturned next to him. It was cold, so very cold. Looking down, Voldemort saw he was shaking and crying.

"_Harry…HARRY!"_

_I'll never get out of here…I'm going to die in here._

Screams were reaching his ears so he quickly clasped his shaking hands over them. Before hiding his face in his raised knees, he glanced around each corner of the room to make sure no creatures were lurking in the shadows.

_I heard a noise! I'm sure I did…There's nothing there._

Sobbing, he covered his face with his knees, curling in on himself, though not before Voldemort was able to see all four walls of the cell and to ascertain that there was no window.

"_SIRIUS! HE'S NOT DEAD! SIRIUS!"_

Grinning, triumph flooded him, overshadowing any lingering fears coming from the boy. Before he knew it, he had started to laugh loudly in the quiet of the study.

Harry continued to shake and cry, the wave of emotions passing through him was painful to his numbed mind. Each emotion savagely tore itself across his mind as the dementors circled his cell from outside.

Suddenly, an overpowering avalanche of triumph, of glee passed through him, causing him to grin in reflex. Someone was hissing, but he couldn't hear properly. He was too disorientated. Then a booming laugh filled his ears, his mind to the brim. The glee was so contagious that Harry felt himself laughing madly along, the tears still streaming down his face. He was coated in a layer of icy cold sweat; his scar burned agonizingly, enough to make him want to throw up. Blackness swallowed up his vision, but he was still laughing along with the slightly familiar man. Then, he felt himself fall to the side and abruptly lose consciousness.

"I've found you, Harry." Lord Voldemort hissed.

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><p>AN: Please read. Up until now, I have been fairly confident with how the plot would go, but I didn't expect this story to go on for this long. So I'll admit that, from this point on, I will be very anxious as to the results of my writing. I'll also own up to my growing worry for this story, but if all goes well, the chapters, and plot will continue to flow. From here, the future is even less planned out. I'm not sure where it will go, I only hope you will continue to like it regardless. Also I must apologize for the ridiculous length of my notes for this chapter. And with that, I bid you a good daynight! Thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello once again my faithful readers! We reached 100 reviews! Thank you very much for your reviews, favourites and alerts! You've certainly given me a lot of support, despite my fears. I apologize for updating so late! Quite honestly I've been rather lazy, more than usual in fact.

I'm not sure how often I will be able to update from now on, I am attending my first year of University. Can you guess which subject I am doing?...English Lang & Lit of course! Anyway I will try to update as much as I can, but the first few weeks of University are probably going to be quite tiring and I will be rather anxious.

Oh lastly, some of you were a bit confused concerning the ending scene of the last chapter. I should have clarified, the italics with speech marks were memories of Harry's, and the other italics were thoughts of both Voldemort and Harry. Sorry about that.

As per usual for most chapters, this one turned out longer than I expected. I just can't refuse details! Ah I get so carried away. Well, that's all for now! On to the chapter, it's the longest one yet! I had debated whether to split it into two chapters, but I didn't want to separate the attack. This chapter is the first of a kind for me and this story, so I hope it turned out ok. Read, read and enjoy. Ah to think we'll reach double figures in the next chapter! Fantastic!

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><p>17th August<p>

The sun was slowly lowering as the breezy morning turned into a cooler afternoon. A tall, bold, gloomy building sat on a small, desolate island. The top of the building seemed high enough to touch the tips of the clouds above. It seemed out of place compared to the plain, honest background of roaring seas and blistering winds. Powerful gusts of wind wreaked havoc on the vast blue ocean, yet still the black figure stood, immobile and strong. Circling around the towering structure were many life-like shadows. As if the silhouettes of hundreds of people had risen up from the floor, escaping from their flat prison, to become these terrifying creatures. Their features resembled death, and that is exactly what they brought unto you. Death, fear and suffering. Yet they danced and weaved around each other, seemingly unaffected by the fury of nature. They were almost graceful in their flight, their torn cloaks fluttering madly around them.

High, so very high up in the black tower, sat a young boy. Shaking in his corner, he remained unaware of the glorious changes happening outside. He knew not what time it was, what day it was, or even where he was. All he knew was silence. Sweet, torturous silence. And he was grateful for it. Anything was better than hearing his memories, his mother's voice repeating itself over and over and over. It had become almost like a mantra to him now, his mother's cries, her desperate screams as her life was ripped out of her by a toxic, bright green light. Sometimes, the boy had to remind himself that it was not he who was causing these memories, these flashbacks, but the cloaked figures outside the stone walls, the dementors. Oh and how they loved to tease him, to taunt him. As if they were tempting him to come to them, to play with them. To their actions the boy only curled in on himself tighter, not yet mad enough to seek out death himself. The silence was endless and heavy. It lay thick around the room, its poisonous fumes surrounding the prisoner. Numbly, the boy stared at the wall opposite to him, breathing in the silence, the madness. He could feel himself slowly falling into insanity, closer and closer. Second after second. And there was little he could do to stop it. Dimly, he wondered when it would all stop, when he would reach the bottom. He had been falling for quite some time now, his steady descent remaining clear in the insufferable quiet.

In this cell full of stone and cold, it was really the only thing he could completely focus on. Everything else was dull, too much so. Nothing could keep his attention away from the dementors as much as his own plunge into the endless void. Dare he say it excited him? No. He was not that far gone yet. It could take a matter of seconds, minutes, hours…days for it to arrive. And he was tired of it. So, so tired of the heart-clenching feeling inside him as he was forced to wait longer. _When will it all end? _He didn't know when it started in particular, but as he was left in this cage devoid of any other life, everything had become distorted somewhat. Hazy. In this obscure cell, he suddenly felt resentment towards the guard who had abandoned him here. _I want to see the healer again._ _Is it such a selfish request, to speak to another human being? Haven't I behaved myself in here?_ _Or is this punishment for yesterday?_ _For breaking that window? It was an accident! Even the healer said so! _Though it was cold, the boy's muscles only ached slightly, instead of crying out for him to move. He blinked slowly, almost sluggishly. His green eyes remained on the same spot on the wall in front of him. _There's nothing else I can do. _That fact helped calm him a little, for it eased the mind to know it had tried its best, tried to delay the insanity that seeped into his mind like a stubborn stain that couldn't be washed away. It decayed the rest of the memories and thoughts around it, turning them that same sickly-green colour. Soon, his mind would become one large container of lunacy, holding nothing but barely distinguishable memories and jumbled thoughts. He would become identical to the other prisoners, people he had never got the opportunity to meet.

And so, he sat still in his cell, resolved to meet his fate head-on. Perhaps it was meant to be this way. Maybe it would be better, once he reached the bottom. What awaited him? No one knew…at least, no one articulate enough to inform him. No, the people who had undertaken the same journey as him, the same fall as him, were long gone. And soon enough, he would follow. He would become a pathetic existence…idly watching life pass by, hoping it would all just _end._

For some reason, the thought of becoming one of those shaking, mumbling inmates didn't bother him as much as it should have. Giving up sounded much easier, despite the expected end result. He'd always had faith, always stood back up, even when his knees began to give out from underneath him. He'd always relied on, and been relied upon by his friends. They had been his greatest strength, his cause for fighting. But now they were gone, he didn't see the point of continuing on. He had nothing to fight for in here, only more years of solitude, of despair. For a moment, the boy thought about ending it all, once and for all. He could see the headlines now, 'Harry Potter, The Chosen One, left to rot in Azkaban'. _No, the Ministry would probably cover up my own death as well. _It was all too clear for Harry now; he didn't need to force himself to stand anymore, not in here. Not for anyone.

_It's my decision. _That thought was exhilarating, almost addictive. Such freedom to do what he wanted…was sadly unfamiliar to him. Being the figurehead of the Light meant he had responsibilities, even as a child. They needed to be fulfilled, whether or not he wanted to. And his one main goal? To kill a Dark Lord. To kill another. To murder. How odd, for wizards who would quickly point the finger and name another 'Dark' or label a spell 'Dark', they were awfully supportive of the idea of killing a fellow wizard, and with the use of 'Light' curses which would mean a longer death for the one subjected to them. How could they stand back and watch a young boy, still in school, face the most powerful wizard of all time? (Bar Dumbledore of course.) Therefore, contrary to his orders, Harry sat and awaited his fate with bated breath. He had long since lost any belief in the title 'Chosen One', they were just words used to instil hope in people, to manipulate them into believing. Much like the words 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' were used to instil fear and anxiety. These manipulations the people drank greedily, their insecurities desperate to be hidden with sugar-coated words of safety. Harry's own title seemed ridiculous to him. After all, how on Earth could he ever have a chance of defeating Lord Voldemort? A sudden surge of anger, of frustration resonated through him at the thought. It was infuriating, how the Light side could so readily agree to the prophecy. He felt angry at them, despite their kindness towards him. How could they ever believe he could kill the Dark Lord? Why would he want to kill someone?

_I don't want to kill anyone…_

Choking on a sudden sob that rose from his throat, Harry recalled the article from the Daily Prophet. The proof couldn't be questioned, and no matter how many times he had assured himself that it would be better to learn the truth, he found he regretted reading what that damn witch had wrote. He couldn't handle the truth. The realisations of the article came abruptly, like a huge wave. As it fell and hit the sandy shores of his mind, he felt his resistance crumble and be dragged with the wave back into the deep ocean. Covering his eyes with his trembling hands, the boy began to shake violently. His lips moved with trying to hold back the cries, but the emotions proved too powerful. In a matter of seconds after remembering the extract, the boy was reduced to a crying mass of rattling bones.

_N-No…How could they do this? Oh God, I won't ever get out of here!_

Then in a flash a blinding pain hit his forehead, only increasing his cries. For almost a month now, he had been free of any dreams forced onto him by Voldemort. His scar had not burned like this for a while, and never before had it felt so agonizing. It felt like his head was burning, and soon enough he was covered head to toe in a thin sheet of icy sweat. Almost like being under the Cruciatus curse, his whole body trembled constantly. The burn is his forehead was unrelenting, and sometimes spiked with such fury, and to such a high level of pain that the boy felt his head lift backwards and collide with the wall painfully. The tears were falling rapidly down his face whilst his head apparently split itself in half. The torture had gotten so severe that even his voice was faltering. Harry was unable to scream as loudly as he would have due to the pain overriding all control he had of his own body. It was as if his forehead had been split down the middle, where the pain was at its peak, and the skin there was being ripped away to each side of his head.

As if in response to Harry's terrible thoughts of the Ministry, of his situation, his own miserable memories began to resurface, courtesy of the dementors that lingered tantalizingly outside. They seemed to mock him, showing him their freedom to fly around beyond the walls of the prison.

"_Harry…Harry!" _His mother's cry sounded, causing him to emit his own slightly hoarse cry in his befuddled mindscape.

_NOOO!_

The cascades of emotions were so brutal, so bright that they hurt him. At random, he registered some of the more noticeable emotions. Glee…there was a lot of delighted glee, so much that it nearly drowned out his own feelings of despair. It was so heavy; Harry felt he couldn't withstand it any longer. Another taste of emotions whizzed past him, scorching everything it came into contact with. There was also surprise, though for what he didn't know. The emotions were not his, this he knew clearly. Though they felt so real that it was difficult to deny ownership of them.

His breath came out in gasps, his cheeks shone with the trails of salty tears.

_I'll never get out of here…I'm going to die in here._

Clenching his eyes shut, he tried not to think of the utter helplessness of that statement. If his fate was to die in here, he'd rather end it all this instant.

A sound next to him startled Harry into opening his sore eyes. The air seemed alive, like it was crackling with energy, with life. The bed lay on its side, seemingly in the blame for its own position. The thin cover lay crumpled on the floor on top of the mouldy mattress and pillow. The boy was not of sound enough mind to wonder how the bed had moved. No, rationality was not his strong point at this moment in time, as he instantly assumed another to be in his shut cell. Panicking, he looked around the room, paying particular attention to the three remaining corners. As his mother released another cry, Harry clasped his hands to his ears, unsuccessfully trying to quieten the screams. Unconvinced, he glared around the cell, as if to dare any monsters to confront him face-to-face and not hide in the shadows.

_I heard a noise! _Harry shouted in his mind, like he wanted to sway the opinion of a hidden person, as well as persuade himself that he wasn't just hearing things. _I'm sure I did…There's nothing there._

The seemingly endless torment caused Harry to curl in on himself, pressing his face into his knees. The agony he was forced to endure seemed like it would never end, and if it lasted for even a few moments more, he felt he would surely go mad. The boy tried, vainly, to count how many minutes he had been under this unforgiving onslaught, aware of the human limitations under the Cruciatus curse. Just a couple of minutes under the red curse was all it took to send you insane. Harry knew this well, being a friend of one Neville Longbottom, whose parents were unfortunately driven insane due to a mad, sadistic witch.

Bellatrix Lestrange. The sound of her name was enough to make his skin crawl, his blood boil. That…that woman had killed his last relative, at least in his eyes. The muggles weren't family, had never thought of him as any part of their perfect lives. He hated the woman with a furious passion, but it hadn't been enough at the Ministry. He had had a chance to make her pay, but he'd failed. If given that chance again, would he take it? Could he torture another person? She certainly deserved it, and he had been more than capable of punishing the muggles. Why then, had he failed at casting the curse on that day? The answer? He was too scared. Too scared of showing any signs of becoming more like the monster he feared the most. Throughout his fifth year at Hogwarts he had begun to sense the similarities even more clearly between himself and Voldemort, and it terrified him. The visions were more realistic, and Harry himself felt part of them. He remembered being the snake that attacked Arthur Weasley, he felt the skin tear beneath his fangs, tasted the warm blood in his mouth. Harry became afraid of the safety of his friends. Had he really done that? What was happening to him? Were his friends safe around him?

And Dumbledore offered him no comfort, remaining intent on staying a safe distance away from Harry. That hurt more than anything, loathed he was to admit such need for the man's support. He recalled being in the headmaster's office…being within arm's reach of him…and wanting nothing more than to rip him apart. The rush of hatred was all-consuming, and were it not for the portkey that took him to number twelve, Grimmauld Place; he would most likely have lunged to attack Dumbledore. Harry felt like he was actually becoming Voldemort, and he could do nothing to stop it. He couldn't help but feel guilty at the terrible things happenings to his friends and their family, as if it was all somehow his fault. It was practically like a snake had been sleeping inside of him and had suddenly woken and reared in a full-on frontal attack. And so, on that day in the Ministry, he had hesitated to curse the witch. The Unforgivable hadn't worked, hadn't had the pure hatred and want to cause pain required for it to work.

Was it bad of him to regret it? Regret not torturing her? The uneasy emotions lay in his stomach, unable to be let out as he couldn't speak to anyone about what he felt. He may have told Sirius…but he was gone now. No one remained that would properly listen, instead of denying everything he said and writing it off as nonsense.

The pain was still present, escalating to a blinding white-hot jolt every now and then. Would he go mad with the pain? It was a reasonable suggestion.

"_SIRIUS! HE'S NOT DEAD! SIRIUS!"_

Harry was met with his own cries, the broken cries of a boy who had lost almost everything, after only just gaining such treasures. The burden of carrying on was too much to bear, he couldn't stand it. Why was it always him who was allowed to live on? What was so special about him? Without warning; a sense of accomplishment, of triumph overtook him. It lifted his fears, his despair and made his stomach feel bubbly and light. An invisible light had shone from within the black darkness; it bathed him in its warm rays. He shivered in pleasure, wishing for the feeling to never end, to forget his worries forever. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry's mouth had twisted into a grin. Despite the desperate thoughts moments ago, the grin on his face was not forced and it certainly offered him no strain. Then, as if all the events of that day hadn't been enough to terrify him, a sudden loud laugh filled his mind. Harry flinched in shock, but his apprehension was soon forgotten as the happiness in his stomach rose up and out of his throat, producing an effortless laugh that would have been tranquil and calming, were it not for the croaky edge to it. The man's laughter grew louder and louder, and he matched it with his own joyous vocalisations. Faint hisses began to enter his ears, though he couldn't place where they were coming from. Oddly enough, they didn't panic him. Instead, the hisses almost felt soothing to him; the sounds made were so soft, they flowed so beautifully, that he thought it was pointless to be fearful of them.

_Where are they from? The man?_

Harry couldn't think, couldn't begin to rationalize the disarrayed mess that was his mind. _Am I going mad? Is this it? _The gleeful laugh enveloped him, and he instantly accepted and surrendered to it. What was the point of fighting such pure happiness? A bubble of excitement pulsed throughout him, thrilling him. He didn't care who it belonged to, whether it was his or not, all he cared about was that he could _feel_. And it felt wonderful. Harry's throat ached from the pressure of his laugh, but still he continued. His bright eyes had long since closed and even as he slid to the side his laughter, and that of the mysterious man's, remained. This was the happiest he had felt in such a long time, and he wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as he could. Then he felt himself fall slowly and hit the floor.

And then it was over.

_-HP-_

It is in the afternoon on the 17th of August. In a room located on the first floor of a large Manor, many black-cloaked figures sit silently at a long table. Two chandeliers rest elegantly over the people, and each hover towards opposite ends of the table. The candles were all lit and burned freely. Despite being subjected to long hours of torturing heat, the wax did not melt, magic keeping them perfect and in shape. The light from the candles surrounded the table, leaving the corners of the room in shadows that seemed to quiver in malicious excitement. At the front of the table was a grand fire, its golden reflection cast upon the sides of the stone fireplace. The scorching flames weaved and swayed trance-like, their silhouettes imitating the motions on the floor in front of the fire.

The Death Eaters looked upon their Lord in awe and exhilaration. Their eyes shone brightly, yet there was an underlying emotion hidden that would be unexpected if glimpsed at by their enemies. Said emotion showed the pressure the war had on all of them. Their faces, though unscathed, were pale and worn. Some of them even had dark circles under their eyes and a few men were unshaven, not due to mere laziness, but rather because they were too weary to perform such menial tasks. Each of the Death Eaters carried about themselves a sense of slight fear, of apprehension that wasn't completely focused on the terrifying figure of the Dark Lord Voldemort. War was not pretty, nor was it remotely easy to consider. Even the best of men fell to the high demand entailed in war. Even the strongest broke, never again the same. These men and women were warriors through and through. Killers for a cause. Their expressions were hardened, highlighting the tragedy that had befallen them and their loved ones. War was not one-sided after all, both sides suffered, both struggled and died. It was like an endless cycle of death and destruction that would continue on until one was named the victor.

But not only were they warriors, killers, they were also survivors. Stubbornly fighting on, even as those close to them perished. However, these people were not only fighting for a cause they believed in. No. They fought for fun. Power, torture, death…it excited the majority of them. They truly were like death eaters, sucking the life out of those they fought against, becoming full with their victim's fear and pain. The Death Eaters fed upon them like leeches, draining their prey dry. They _enjoyed_ it. Though perhaps in some ways it made walking out on to the battlefield easier. By focusing on the thrill of hurting others, of hearing those broken screams and pleads, they could forget about the danger, forget that they could be walking to their deaths.

Therefore, though their expressions portrayed eagerness, the stone-like features could not be ignored. War was not to be taken lightly, and the Death Eaters knew that better than most. However, such amounts of dread would not dampen their spirits; their faith for their Master far outweighing any leverage terror could have over them. Lord Voldemort sat at the head of the table. The worry that was barely noticeable on his follower's faces was nowhere to be seen on his own. He regarded each of them calmly, his expression one of determination and control. His pale countenance seemed to ease everyone around him. For who would panic when their leader looked upon them so serenely? The Dark Lord's confidence inspired their own, kept them standing. Did Lord Voldemort realise how much his followers worshipped him?

At last, Voldemort began to speak softly.

"The time…has finally come, Death Eaters. When we last met, Severus informed us of Dumbledore's plan to take the boy on the 18th. Since then, our aim has been to gain the whereabouts of Harry Potter's cell. The cell that I have just recently located." He stopped to grin slightly, amused at the unblinking focus of those around him.

Bellatrix leaned forward towards Voldemort, her eyes gazing at his face in utter dedication and acceptance.

"My Lord, how? How did you accomplish it?" She breathed in complete admiration, her wide eyes conveying her pride for being within Lord Voldemort's presence, for being a part of this faultless man's plan. Clearly the witch felt she couldn't express her pleasure and honour enough as she physically showed the Dark Lord how intoxicating his presence was, and how she wanted to be nearer, to be his centre of attention.

"It seems the link between Potter's mind and mine has reopened. I had closed the link after the boy managed to foil my plans at the Ministry." A visible tremor passed through the Death Eaters at the mention of their failure. Even Bellatrix's lips, that were usually wide open in mid-cackle, were quivering. "However, it has opened once again. I can only assume it was triggered by the boy's over-emotional state. It has proven to be a liability in the past but this time, it has been in our favour. I was able to glimpse into the boy's mind and see through his eyes. We know he is located at the top of Azkaban, but as I glanced around the cell I was able to ascertain another piece of information. The boy's cell has no window. To my knowledge, each cell has one. I cannot understand why the Ministry would break regulations for one child, but it has only made our task simpler."

With that, the Dark Lord stared at each of his follower's again, allowing them to process the knowledge. After a few minutes of silence, he resumed speaking.

"While this information is significantly vital, by Dumbledore's plot it means we are almost out of time. The old coot comes for the boy tomorrow, and we cannot risk waiting and attacking Azkaban at dawn."

For a few moments, he remained silent, as if contemplating. No one dared to disturb Voldemort's thoughts, but still they sat waiting. Lucius risked shifting slightly while gazing at the Dark Lord. His minute movements were instantly spotted and before he could blink, a pair of red eyes had met his own. Voldemort's orbs were narrowed somewhat, and Lucius paled at the gesture. Seeing that the Death Eater wished to speak, the snake-like man continued to look at him curiously.

"Lucius." He hissed, offering the man a chance to speak.

"My Lord, what do you propose we do?" He questioned carefully, aware of his master's well-known impatience.

"There is no alternative. As reckless and rash as it seems, we must attack tonight. We must acquire Harry Potter before this day ends." The Dark Lord spoke assuredly. In any other situation, had it been another speaker, the men and women listening intently would have been dismissive if not reluctant to the idea. But from the thin lips of this incredible man, every word said was believable. Lord Voldemort was not one for joking, nor would he speak without meaning. His fluent words were chosen precisely for their purpose, a charismatic man such as himself had no need to lie, to stretch the truth. His authoritative voice affected each Death Eater individually. The more confident trembled in excitement, whilst others sat still, resolved but not without trepidation.

"We now have all the information we need to plan an attack. With Macnair's knowledge, we know the guards roam in each part of Azkaban. To get to the boy, we need to first ensure there are no guards within close range of his cell. Therefore, a distraction must be staged to occupy them. To do this, there will be two groups. One group shall lure the Azkaban staff away whilst the other group enters undetected and grabs Potter."

"For the first group, Bellatrix and Rodulphus will lead, accompanied by the Carrows, Avery, Crabbe, Goyle, Rockwood, Severus, Dolohov, and Nott. You will be initiating the attack upon Azkaban. Engage the guards on the lower levels using whatever means necessary to keep them occupied. You may fight without restraint." His red eyes glistened with mirth as he saw the Death Eaters mentioned swell with pride.

The order to fight freely with no restrictions was met by grateful ears. Nothing was more promising than being able to give your all, holding nothing back. All burdens were thrown aside. It was extremely fulfilling for a wizard and witch, to be allowed to challenge themselves and pour all their energy into their string of spells and curses. And Lord Voldemort had just offered free reign in Azkaban to all of them.

"Once the battle has started, there will be little time to snatch the boy before the Aurors arrive. You are to notify me immediately when they come by using 'Morsmordre'. If Potter has not been secured before the Ministry appears, the first group are to continue pushing forwards until I say otherwise. When I command you, you will stop and fall back at once. And stragglers will be left behind. Is that understood?"

The Death Eaters nodded in unison, showing their complete cooperation.

"Good. I shall be leading the second group. Lucius, Macnair, Yaxley, Rabastan, Jugson and Mulciber will follow. With the commotion from the others, we should be able to enter without drawing attention to ourselves. Potter will be on one of the top floors of Azkaban. The cell will be windowless. There are also no prisoners opposite to his cell, which suggests he has been placed in isolation from the rest of the prison. If any of you should locate the boy, inform me at once through the Dark Mark. As soon as we have him, a signal shall be sent to alert you all. At that signal, you will all retreat." Lord Voldemort commanded, keenly gazing at his soldiers, silently preparing them for battle. Their eyes were focused on his, feasting on his every word.

"I expect no harm to come to the boy. If I should learn of anyone disobeying these orders, you will be punished. If he decides to put up a fight, stun him. As for the dementors, you need not concern yourselves. They will not interfere. The attack will begin in two hours, until then, prepare yourselves. We will meet here again at that time. You may leave."

As all the Death Eaters stood and turned to leave, the Dark Lord spoke again suddenly.

"Macnair, a moment."

Once the rest had left, Macnair stood facing Lord Voldemort, his gaze fearful albeit curious. The Dark Lord remained unfazed by the stare, used to such glances, and instead fixed his own red eyes onto that of his follower. The Death Eater continued to look at his Lord, though his eyes lowered slightly so as to not be directly gazing into the blood-filled orbs.

"My Lord?" He questioned.

"You will be partaking in the mission tonight in the guise of the healer, Macnair. Using your cover, you will be able to roam around the prison freely. Should you locate the boy first, he may be more willing and compliant if his escort is familiar to him."

"I understand, My Lord." Macnair agreed.

"Very well. That is all." Voldemort dismissed him impassively, his mind clearly elsewhere. His long, thin fingers drummed the table lightly, itching to act.

_-HP-_

17th August, 10:00pm

The scene was unlike most meetings. The black-cloaked figures had all returned to the drawing room as ordered, and after a quick reminder of the plot, were led outside by the Dark Lord. Once outside the home of the Malfoys, Voldemort explained to them the next phase of the plan: to travel undetected to an area closer to Azkaban, where he then would inform the Death Eaters of the rest of the plan. At the given location in the North East of England, in North Yorkshire, a loud 'Crack!' rebounded around the silent garden as Voldemort apparated to the last resting point before the attack. Numerous sharp cracking sounds surrounded the area as Death Eater after Death Eater respectfully followed their Lord.

In the middle of Scarborough, thick grey clouds suddenly formed across the sky. It is usual for a child to stare up at the sky and imagine the clouds to be in the shape of animal, a beautiful creature. Perhaps something as domestic as a cat or a dog, or a mythical creature such as a dragon or a unicorn. But the shape that protruded out of the swelling skies was not one only for the eyes of innocent children, nor was it of a gentle animal. There, right in the middle of the sky was a huge skull that seemed to take shape from the clouds it concealed itself in, tainting them from grey to green, like poison seeping from a snake's venomous fangs. Its eyes were socket-less and of a dark sickly-green colour. Suddenly, its mouth opened wide, as if alive. Oozing out of its mouth were streaks of dark black smoke. The smoke dripped from the mouth, only to rise up again like the wispy clouds around it. The shapes pulsed and glided easily across the sky, following dutifully the flash of darkness ahead.

The smoke moved and rippled, appearing as weightless as air. As the leading tendril of smoke rose higher and higher, the ground below became hidden by the dark clouds that had been so high up mere seconds ago. Alongside Voldemort were more of the smoke-like shapes. Death Eaters. Once at a safe height, unnoticeable by the muggles below safe in their beds, they straightened. Like the smoke coming from oncoming bomber planes, this dense, black cloud ensured nothing but terror. They flew speedily across the night sky, silent and deadly, with nothing in their way to stop them. As one they moved, their destination set. The shapes were like streaks of black paint in the sky, watercolours that smudged and blended in with the clouds perfectly, yet could still be distinguished from them. Effortlessly they flew across the sky, heading towards the final meeting point. Passing over countless houses and buildings, the Death Eaters saw the streetlights that were lit below, looking like small dots of light from their height. Windows in the various houses were also glowing with warm light, sending out a heart-warming vibe. All was cosy and safe inside the muggle houses, and no place was greater than home. Home sweet home. In contrast, the skies above were less comforting and inviting. The hostile grey clouds began to cover the blanket of navy blue as the Death Eaters portrayed the same hostility for the people below, darkening their skies for not the first time.

Finally, they reached the green fields and trees nearing the coast of the North Sea, in which the island that held their desired target rested. Rapidly, Lord Voldemort began to descend, his followers imitating his every move. Patches of green became huge expanses of fields, dots of light became bright orange glows in tall, detailed houses, and smoke became palpable and human. In under a minute, a dozen darkly-robed people had landed safely and with a grace that should have been impossible, given the circumstances of their arrival. At the front stood Lord Voldemort, even more pale against the dimly-lit environment. His red eyes gleamed silently, eyeing his followers with controlled excitement similar to a snake poised and ready to strike. They were stood on a cliff bordered by ancient oak trees, the leaves swayed softly and all was quiet. All hints of civilization were drowned out by the towering forms of nature, perfect for discretion. At the edge of the cliff was an opening, leaving a view of the calm sea.

Like soldiers the Death Eaters stood, standing attentively awaiting the command to attack. Voldemort stood straight and motionless in front of them. He seemed to bask in the feel of the tension, of the pressure, like he had already experienced the emotions before a battle, had been a part of a battle on numerous occasions. The Death Eaters showed the same expressions and feelings, though some were more noticeably calmer than others, showing their own past experiences on the battlefield. Such things were nothing necessarily to be proud of, but they were there all the same. The light that had always been present in their eyes, that they were oblivious to, had gone out. Gestures and appearances seemed more subdued and cold, as if the fight had drained some of their feelings away, their ability to sympathise.

"The hour is upon us, my friends. From here, we will be travelling straight to Azkaban. Once we get within sight of the prison, the groups will separate. The first group shall head directly for Azkaban and circle in to attack, overshadowing the rest. As for the second group, we shall remain behind the first until they move to the left. Once they move, we shall head to the right, away from the battle, and to the top of the tower. We shall break entry into the prison on one of the top floors, with the uproar downstairs any sound we make should be easily masked. No doubt the guards will assume we have come to rescue wizards loyal to our cause. They will not suspect our true intentions until it is too late."

Glancing away from the masked Death Eaters, Voldemort gazed upwards at the dark blue sky. The few bright stars that could be seen were twinkling merrily, unbeknownst to the long-awaited battle, and the pools of blood about to be shed. The rest of the stars were covered by grey clouds that shifted slowly in the wind. It was more or less a still night, for now. The calm before the storm. And what a storm it would be.

"It is time. We leave now." Those brief words said, Voldemort's pale figure swiftly flew up into the sky, turning once more into a long stream of thick, black smoke.

Hurtling towards the horizon, the Death Eaters steadily followed beside Voldemort, keeping a respectful distance away. The further they travelled, the greater space they put between themselves and the large town of Scarborough, the harsher the waters and the wind became. The environment around them was changing drastically, clearly used to deter any muggles from wandering further. Be they fishermen or Cruise ship officers, all who voyaged across these waters knew not to stray too far from the land. The unpredictable tides would kill any amateur seaman, and even more experienced seamen were known to have fallen to these raging waves.

Soon enough, a glimpse of a dark shadow was spotted and they all knew their journey had almost come to an end. And there it was, Azkaban, invisible to the muggle eye. The pictures frequently seen in the Daily Prophet did not do it justice. No, being personally in front of the bold, black building was enough to fill anyone with a sense of doom. The place reeked of death and decay, and one could understand why Aurors detested stepping foot anywhere near it. With no time for sight-seeing, the first group raced forward, separating from the rest of them. The others continued to head straight for the cold structure, falling behind the first group who charged ahead at a faster pace. The shapes ahead abruptly dived, twisting around each other teasingly, expressing their enthusiasm despite the dangerous task. The dementors circling the prison paid them no heed, more intent on feasting upon the deliciously despairing prisoners. All of a sudden, the smoky figures jolted to the left, and as they did so, sent a colourful array of spells towards the lower floors.

On contact with the walls, the stone exploded with an intense, deep 'Boom!', and white smoke fumes erupted from within. Parts of the stone wall flew out at horrifying speed, plummeting into the icy cold water. As the Death Eaters circled, they unleashed another downpour of explosive curses, effectively establishing the appropriate distraction of a battle.

And as simple as that, all-out conflict was created.

Fighting ensued as the prison's defence rushed to meet the challenge of the Death Eaters. Spells were cast continually, emerging from inside Azkaban, the defenders shielded briefly by the white clouds of smoke. The Death Eaters were not discouraged however, as they fought back just as fiercely. Amidst the shouting and blasts, the flourishing cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange could be heard echoing around the battlefield in wicked delight.

While the chaos persisted down below, the second group were gradually ascending to the higher levels of Azkaban, weaving around the dementors in disregard. Remaining hidden on the right side of the building, they paused briefly three-quarters of the way up. Quickly breaking through the wall, they poured into Azkaban, zooming in all directions on the lookout for one raven-haired child, Harry Potter. Within seconds, all had taken different routes, dispersing immediately with no time to waste. Lowering his deathly-pale feet onto the stone floor, the snake-like man stalked along the corridor eagerly assessing each cell, not in concern, but in the hopes of finding the Boy-Who-Lived. The prisoners were either insane or too weak to call for help. Nevertheless, as the Dark Lord swept passed their cells, a slight tremor travelled throughout them as his powerful aura washed over them for an instant, before moving forward to frighten the next inmate. Some even flinched and winced, as if hit with a Stinging hex. With his bone-coloured wand at the ready, lazily resting in his open palm, Voldemort silently entered the next set of cells. His other spider-like hand was slightly raised and open, as if in mid-grab.

_Where are you hiding, Harry?_

_-HP-_

"Are you sure he is ready, Dumbledore?" The Minister for Magic, Fudge asked.

Standing before the old man, the Minister nervously reddened, appearing quite flustered as if losing an argument. The two were in the headmaster's office once more, meeting to discuss the important matter of Harry Potter.

"I am sure, Cornelius. Harry has shown his regret for his terrible actions, and I believe he is truly sorry for what happened. It's as you said, the public will fret if the boy isn't sighted soon. This way, you will have no more reason to fear and we shall regain our Chosen One." Dumbledore assured easily.

"And what of the public? What shall I tell them?"

Dumbledore seemed to ponder this for a moment, his eyes gazing pleasantly at the troubled Minister through his half-moon shaped spectacles.

"You will inform them that the boy has made an almost-complete recovery, but that it will take a while for him to start acting normally again. He has just recently been through a traumatic incident after all, they shall understand. That way, any strange behaviour the boy may display can be explained straight away and with no fuss. Though I have no doubt the boy will comply with my wishes, as was usual before this tragedy. It may take him a few days to re-adjust and for that, I will be escorting the boy to the Burrow for a few weeks. He should become steadier in the presence of his friends."

"And when will you be collecting him?" Fudge replied, trusting the headmaster to know what he was doing.

"Tomorrow at noon. I will bring him here first, to calm him as he may not cope well with being placed directly into such an active environment as the Weasley's home." Dumbledore explained.

"Alright. Well, if that's everything Dumbledore, I-" He began, but was interrupted by a flicker of bright green light as flames suddenly emerged from within the fireplace.

Out of the green flames entered the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. His eyes were widened slightly in panic and at the sight of the headmaster and Minister; he quickly started towards them, talking as he walked briskly.

"S-Sorry to disturb you Minister, Albus, but I've just received an urgent message from Azkaban. The Death Eaters have launched an attack and are pushing our forces back. We've already sent a team of Aurors out there, but it seems they were overpowered quickly. It doesn't seem to be a ruse, and we're holding them back as long as we can, but it won't last. Not for long. We're outnumbered." Kingsley uttered quickly, shocking them both.

Dumbledore's face was set in stone, his wrinkles no longer curved with smiling. He frowned whilst listening to the report, before standing quickly to stride towards Kingsley. The other two stood still, waiting for instructions.

"Alert the Order immediately. The Death Eaters must be trying to break-out as many prisoners loyal to Voldemort as they can, while the Ministry and public are in such a vulnerable state due to his return." Fudge and Kingsley flinched at the use of the Dark Lord's name, viewing it as taboo. "We won't allow them use this as an advantage. We must not let any prisoner escape. There's no time to waste. I shall go there at once to weaken them while you inform the Order of the situation." Dumbledore ordered strictly, before turning to stand in the fireplace, facing them both. After another flash of emerald green light, the fireplace was left empty once again, leaving Fudge and Kingsley alone in the office.

Briefly nodding to Kingsley, the Minister moved a second later and he too, entered the fireplace. Once gone, Kingsley took one last glance around the room before leaving in the last flash of green. All was quiet again in the office, whilst the skies roared outside in silent anger, and the cycle of war, death and revenge began again, vowing to never pause until this day had ended, and the skies had turned blood-red.

Fawkes hooted sadly in the silence, seemingly aware of the pain that rang so clear in the prison that was so many miles away. The screams, the cries and the deadly silence.

_-HP-_

When he next awoke, his entire body tingled and ached, his muscles throbbed under the strain he had been under. Harry didn't – couldn't move. His limbs felt like lead, and his head felt twice its size, heavy and dense. Blinking slowly, he felt the cold stone beneath his right cheek, where his head lay on the floor. He was lying on his side, and hadn't moved since he'd lost consciousness from the pain of before. For a while all that could be heard was his shallow breathing and he wondered how long he'd slept, with no guard supervision to wake him. _I could be dead…and they wouldn't even know. _Finally, the boy attempted to sit up and rest his back on the wall behind him, placing his right palm on the floor to steady himself. Except as he tried to rise, his arm buckled under his weight and he fell back down, though his right forearm on the ground stopped his body from completely falling. After regaining his breath, Harry raised himself again on his trembling arm, and succeeded. Shifting his hefty legs, he panted. Like a broken puppet Harry slouched, his legs sprawled out in front of him, his arms at the side of his body, only able to remain upright due to the wall at his back. His head was resting crookedly on his right shoulder, and even though his neck pulsed uncomfortably, he made no effort to move. He'd exerted all the energy his body had revitalised during his sleep. Now, he was exhausted. Not only physically and mentally, but magically too.

Azkaban deprived the prisoners of their peace of mind, and weakened their bodies. But with the high amount of dementors patrolling outside, the inmates were also robbed of their own magic and most couldn't handle even the simplest of spells whilst in the presence of the malevolent demons. Even if there were no apparating wards around the building, preventing the prisoners from escaping, the magic and power needed to transport one's self was impossible to acquire in such a place. There was no possible way for them to gather so much magic and so quickly, they were truly stranded. Helpless without outside assistance.

_It's hopeless_, Harry thought. _I'll never get out of here now. No one's coming for me._

Sighing softly he closed his eyes, intent on resting for the remainder of the day/night…for the rest of his life. And that's when it started.

'Boom!'

Shocked, Harry's eyes flared open, not used to such a loud noise. The whole wall seemed to tremble a little, as if shivering. Not trusting his body enough to attempt to stand, Harry could only sit still and listen intently, speculating where the noise was coming from. _W-What was that? What's going on?_ Barely daring to breathe lest the sound should block all other noises, Harry waited.

'Boom!'

There it was again, the same deep roar that rumbled throughout the prison, sending another tremor up the wall. _Is there a storm? Is it thunder?_

'Boom!'

_N-No…that can't be thunder. It's coming from below. What is it? _Closing his eyes again, Harry tried to picture the sound, to picture what was happening, determined to figure it out. More of the loud sounds came, identical to one another. The wall was shaking continually, as if it was facing an earthquake. Even though the noises were far away, he still had a bad feeling about them. Whatever the sounds were, it wasn't good. _Has someone escaped? Are they fighting the guards? Wouldn't it have ended by now? _Questions raced across Harry's mind frantically. He felt a certain amount of distress, like it was him personally who was being targeted. The noises were down below but they felt too close to him. It was ridiculous to be worried. For what could be worse than being locked up in here like some animal? Death? An easy exit. Pain? Anything to free him from this blank state. Harry wanted to feel again. Happiness, pain, excitement, it didn't matter which. Anything was better than this. He craved the sensations caused by strong emotions. To feel like his heart was being clenched in a fist, or like the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, to feel a shiver run down his spine like a flash of cold water. Anything to make him feel alive.

'BOOM!'

In an instant he had leaned forward, his heart racing and pounding. The noise…was much closer than the rest, close enough for him to ascertain what exactly it was. It was an explosion. He could hear the stone break and crack, ricocheting off the standing walls and the stone floor. Though it all turned silent too soon again. The explosion was very near, maybe a few floors down. _Who is it? Why are they here?_

Harry wasn't stupid; he knew now what was happening. Or at least was able to place all his faith on a reasonable guess. It was a break-out, surely. He hadn't been here long, it was long enough for him, but he didn't know if this was considered a regular occurrence. Was it predictable? _Maybe a once-in-a-year thing?_ Harry smiled slightly to himself at the thought, before shaking his head softly. _No. If it was, I think they'd put up more defences. Then who is it? They must either be very powerful or very stupid…_

Managing to stand, Harry shakily made his way to the bars at the front of the cell. His right hand was pressed against the wall to take some of the weight and pressure from his legs. At the bars, he pressed his face into the cold metal as much as he could, trying to look down the corridor as far as possible. Harry didn't know whether it was the fact that he was in Azkaban, or if he was just bored, but he wished to go out there and see for himself the damage caused. Curious? Definitely. Excited? Obviously! He needed to go out there, never mind all the likely dangers he would meet. Curiosity killed the cat, he knew that well. He was just a curious boy, and if Harry was going to die because of it, he wanted to make sure he'd seen something worthwhile before he went. And what better thing to witness than a break-out attempt in a prison you were hidden away in? So he waited anxiously, longing to see someone run in through the door at the end of the passage any minute. The boy almost looked like a child on the top of the stairs holding onto the banister, hoping to see Father Christmas drop down the chimney. Instead, he was in Azkaban and waiting behind iron bars, wishing to see a person running past who had just successfully broken into the prison.

What he didn't expect was for a middle-aged familiar man to hurriedly enter the hallway, rushing towards him.

"Alright Potter, I'm here to take you to Hogwarts. Behave yourself." He ordered gruffly and quickly, not wishing to waste any time in such a precarious environment. His face was paler than usual, which led Harry to believe the people breaking in were no allies of the Ministry. For whatever reason, this realisation made him smirk briefly, glad of any misfortunes of the corrupted government.

Harry had moved to stand in the middle of the room, still directly facing the cell door. He frowned at the man in hesitation. _Why is Dawlish here?_

_-HP-_

Frustration oozed from his very being, sending waves of threat rippling from his skeletal, black-robed form. And yet, the man could not deny the thrill of the hunt, his prey none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Silently he prowled down another hallway filled with cells, taking time to revel in the darker emotions.

Lord Voldemort was anxious to acquire the boy, preferably before all hell broke loose when the meddling Aurors arrived. So he roamed the corridors of this floor, before moving up to the next, slowly making his way to the top of the tower. It seemed quiet for now. The Death Eaters were doing a very good job of distracting the guards, and even seemed to be overtaking them. A few stray guards had been wandering the higher floors, but the Death Eaters of the second group had gladly taken it upon themselves to duel them. They knew how important this task was after all, and it needed to be completed in order for the Dark Lord to be able to search for the boy. Up on the top floors, there were no further signs of the Ministry, allowing the Dark Lord to calmly wander without the need to deal with insignificant rebels to his cause. He wasn't here to kill petty Ministry workers after all. No, his prize was much more valuable than watching them writhe and scream in pain. To see the lights turn off in their eyes, the vibrant orbs becoming dull and blank. His prize was a young boy, who in Voldemort's mind was incredibly lucky, in all sense of the word. The boy had defied his will countless times, and narrowly escaped death by his and his follower's hands more than once. But he didn't enter Azkaban to grant the boy the mercy of killing him. He came to retrieve Harry Potter for himself, to test his potential worth and power. The Dark Lord was very curious as to the thoughts of the boy concerning the prophecy, concerning the ones who had betrayed him. Needless to say, he wasn't willing to rid the world of the Boy-Who-Lived yet, until his thirst for answers had been reasonably quenched.

_Come out, come out Harry…_

_-HP-_

"W-What? Why am I going to Hogwarts? What's happening?" Harry asked in confusion. _To Hogwarts? Why now? I don't understand…_

Clearly the Auror, Dawlish, did not appreciate the questions as he glared at the boy before unlocking the cell door. The sharp scratching of a key hitting the lock surrounded them, and Harry didn't think the man was ever going to answer him. To his surprise, once the door had been opened Dawlish spoke.

"Minister's orders, Potter. Now, come on."

"Does this mean I'm being released?"

"Potter…" The man continued to glare at him, his impatience growing.

But Harry wasn't moving. Not until he had the answers he needed. He wasn't going to be dragged around like a dog on a leash, unaware of what was happening, at least…not without a fight. He'd had enough of blindly following others, scrounging around in bins to collect muggle newspapers, trying to find even the slightest hint of an attack from Voldemort, any piece of news concerning the Death Eaters. Harry had even taken to lounging around outside the muggle's home under the open front window, all in order to listen to the news in peace, without the suspicious glares or snide remarks from his dear 'relatives'. Why was he constantly left in the dark? He'd have thought he would have been one of the first to be informed of any news, seeing as how everyone believed him capable of murdering the Dark Lord! But no, he was left guessing…again. And so, he wasn't leaving until he understood what was going on.

"Is there a break-out?"

"Potter! Dumbledore will explain everything to you once we get you to Hogwarts!" Dawlish exclaimed angrily.

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes! That's why I'm taking you to his office. Now come along, or do I have to use force?"

He had no wand, could barely lift himself up half an hour ago…against a fully-grown man with or without a wand, he was helpless. Fighting against an armed wizard was suicidal, and a waste of valuable energy.

"No…no I'm coming." Harry said distractedly. _Dumbledore said he was coming to get me in a few days, is this what this is all about? _Harry walked towards Dawlish, who quickly grabbed his arm to lead him down the passage and into the corridor filled with cells. _No. He looks too anxious for this to all be part of some plan. Then who is breaking in? Why won't he tell me?_

Opening his mouth, Harry had uttered the first syllable of the word when all of a sudden he had been thrown behind the Auror, who had raised his wand threateningly. From behind Dawlish's shoulder, Harry could see a man in black robes. His wand was also drawn, but it lay comfortably at his side. The man was smiling, not in the least bit worried at the wand pointing straight at his chest. _That smile! But why is he here? And why is he wearing those robes?_

Harry's confusion was understandable, seeing as how the man in front of him was none other than the healer. _What is he doing? Is he here to stop us? _The healers' cool blue eyes were trained on Dawlish who stood still, waiting to attack should the other make even a slightly suspicious move.

"And where might you be taking Mr Potter, hmm?" The healers eyes shone with something Harry couldn't identify, but it felt off somehow. Wrong.

Dawlish must have sensed it too for he raised his wand hand a little and prepared to cast. Though he was stopped by Harry, who at realising what he planned, grabbed the Aurors' left shoulder in disbelief.

"Stop! He works here, he's a healer!" Harry gasped. _He would have attacked him! What's gotten him so nervous?_

"A healer? You sure, Potter? Why isn't he wearing a uniform?" Dawlish was uncertain now. Harry's claim showed the man to be innocent, but to believe so would mean to ignore his gut feeling that something wasn't right about the man in front of him.

The healer's smile widened and he held his arms out to the side, indicating his black-cloaked form.

"These? Ah well, you see I was relaxing in my home when I received an urgent call to return at once and assist the prison. We are quite low on staff, you know, so I didn't have time to dress myself for the occasion." He smirked, not taking the threat of the Auror seriously.

"Who is here? What's happening?" Harry blurted out, knowing he had a better chance of gaining answers from the healer.

To his questions, the man quirked his eyebrows in amusement. His bright eyes were still on the Auror, as if talking to him instead.

"You mean your chaperon has dragged you from your cell without explaining anything to you?" He laughed suddenly and then turned his eyes to Harry for the first time. The blue orbs glistened in delight, though he couldn't understand why. Dawlish made some noise of disagreement which was ignored, the healer kept his gaze firmly fixed on Harry. "It's the Death Eaters, Mr Potter."

"Why are they-" Harry was harshly cut off as Dawlish shoved him further behind, so that Harry was unable to see the healer due to Dawlish's head. Leaning to the right, he peeked at the still grinning man.

"That's classified information! He doesn't need to know." The Auror snarled nastily.

_Doesn't need to know? Why not? And why are the Death Eaters here? Have they come to rescue other followers? _Frowning, Harry wondered why he couldn't be told something as simple as that. A spark of unease rushed through him. _Is that it? Or are they after something else?_

"I believe Mr Potter has every right to know, seeing as he is the one most in danger here." The healer answered easily, in all seriousness.

A jolt of lightning realisation coursed throughout his veins. Death Eaters. The same Death Eaters who followed Lord Voldemort and had tried to kill him many times were running around the prison, and could so easily catch a glimpse of him and decide his death would be more entertaining, more fulfilling. And he had wanted one of them to run in the same corridor he was kept in. Luck could only be used as an excuse so many times.

"That's why I'm here. I've been ordered to take the boy." Dawlish tried to reason, not wanting to take unnecessary action against someone who could endanger his job. The reason for attacking a Death Eater was self-explanatory. To attack a healer who was just here to do his job…was not wise at all.

The healer eyed the man curiously, knowing the restrictions were all in his favour.

"Mr Potter here has been sentenced to life in Azkaban. Unless you have any proof of such a claim, I'm afraid he will not be allowed to go anywhere with you." He stated coolly.

"Now see here, the Minister has sent me to collect the boy himself!" Dawlish said in outrage, his teeth grinding in anger.

"And why has the Minister allowed the removal of Mr Potter from Azkaban after serving little over a week of his life sentence?" The healer asked in true interest.

"That's classified." The Auror said briefly, his eyes narrowed in distrust causing Harry to smile.

_The healer doesn't really make good first impressions, does he? _He smiled wider at that, and saw the healer grin in return.

"Well, that's unfortunate." Again the healer remained pleasant and polite. _Is he even taking this seriously? _Honestly it amused Harry to see him talk so off-handedly. The Auror was getting furious, and they both couldn't stop grinning at the sight.

"Now, if you don't mind-" Dawlish began to move forward resolutely. Only, the healer remained in the way. Silently, he too raised his wand. The Auror halted as if struck and steadied his arm, preparing to fight. Though the tension was worrying, Harry didn't feel as panicked as he should have. It was like watching a play on stage; he was separated from it all. Nothing bad was going to happen. He just couldn't bring himself to worry, to force himself to feel those emotions, though they should have come naturally to him by now.

"Mr Potter, if you please." The healer met Harry's gaze again as he held out his hand, beckoning him.

Dawlish quickly turned behind him to see the boy half a yard away, having not moved along with him. However he only had a second to stare at Harry before the healer had cast a curse, surprising the Auror. Turning at the bright light, Dawlish was just able to shield himself before the spell collided into him. Harry could only stand there, not knowing what else to do. _He is attacking an Auror. This is no joke. That was a real curse! Has Dawlish broken the rules by coming to get me? W-Was he lying to me? _A lump caught in his throat at the possibility. Lost, Harry watched on as the two fought. Interestingly enough, the healer seemed to be the dominant fighter and was overpowering the Auror, who was starting to struggle with keeping up.

"Diffindo!" The healer cried, finally catching the Auror in the chest.

"Harry, come here. Quickly!" He insisted urgently, while the Auror stumbled backwards for a moment before catching his footing. A faint blood trail ran across his shirt, but it wasn't deep enough to be lethal.

At the sound of his given name, Harry looked towards the healer again. His arm was outstretched. _Should I go? But Dumbledore will be waiting for me, won't he? _Anger rose through him at the thought of the old man. _No, he's said enough already. _He took a quick look at the Auror, who seemed to have forgotten he was there for the moment. Without thinking, he ran forward hurriedly and past the Auror to the man who had been willing to listen, to the man who had answered his questions. _The Death Eaters are here. _He knew that only because of the healer. Cursing his own stupidity for rushing in without giving the matter more thought, Harry knew he hadn't had the time to decide. He'd had to make a decision in seconds, and this was what he'd chosen. As he got to the healer's left side, the man grasped him at the elbow to drag him closer, casting a brief shield around them. The red flash of light intended for him dispersed upon hitting the barrier. _He protected me. _Harry still couldn't get to terms with the fact that the stranger was all too eager to help him. Glaring outright at the Auror who had attempted to stun him, Harry knew he had made the correct choice. While the healer protected them, he leant down to whisper in Harry's ear.

"Now I wouldn't trust this man if I were you, the Ministry would have informed us if you were going to be released. I'm sorry, boy." The healer muttered reluctantly at seeing Harry's saddened gaze. "I'm going to have to take care of him. While I do, I want you to go to my office and stay there, alright? He does understand one thing, it isn't safe here." He pulled away and let go of him. With his free hand, he reached out to the left. Appearing out of nowhere was his long, white healer's coat. Holding it out to Harry, the man signalled for him to take it.

"Here, wear this. Cover up that uniform of yours. Now go, Potter. And do not leave that room!" The healer ordered before turning to fully focus on Dawlish, who was throwing curses one after the other, trying to break the man's powerful shield.

Way past the time for thinking, Harry wordlessly put on the coat which went just passed his knees and spun on the spot before running towards the double doors. With one last look around, Harry shouted.

"Thank you."

And then opened the doors, dashing quickly down the stone stairs. It was madness, charging mindlessly towards the healer's office. _What's going to happen now? Will he just come and take me like nothing ever happened? What if the Death Eaters find me first? No, I can't think about that right now. I have to get to his office, no matter what! _The white coat fluttered behind him as he ran, the sleeves were almost covering his hands, but he felt he liked the extra weight. It was far warmer than anything he'd worn in a while. The dirty clothes he'd worn for over a week were slightly frayed and very thin, offering no comfort. As he passed through the doors and down the stairs it became clear that a fight was still going on far down below. Leaning over the edge, Harry could see the faint reflections of flashes from spells on the floor, though he couldn't actually see anyone. As his curiosity got the better of him, Harry made his way slowly down the stairs, not paying attention which floor he was on, only gazing at the bottom floor which was gradually getting larger, clearer.

_Just a peek…just a little peek. _Before he had time to step further, a vivid spark shot up from below, connecting with the staircase to his right. As soon as it hit, the stairs shattered, sending bits of stone in every direction. The blast pushed Harry back and he fell to the floor, his spine digging into the steps. Raising his head to survey the mess, a stray piece of stone caught the side of his face, cutting his cheek. He felt something run down his cheek, tickling him slightly, but he ignored it. Instinctively, he raised his arms to cover his face, but nothing else came towards him. Sitting up, he saw white powder spread across the stairs from the broken stone. Sighing, Harry took a moment to look around him. Despite the danger, he felt relaxed at being on his own, free from the cage and people constantly watching him. The simple things in life tasted much better now. Harry wasn't an ungrateful child, not by a long shot. After living in a cupboard for a good portion of his childhood, he knew how to appreciate sleeping in a room that wasn't completely filled by a small mattress and shelves containing tiny soldier figurines. He knew how to appreciate having the space to walk around in your room, to have a refreshing breeze come through the window. To wake to glorious sunlight, to eat three healthy meals. To have someone who cares. Being in here, where he couldn't even eat or walk out of the damn cell…really made him think how lucky he had been. He had a nice bedroom, could go out to the park (though was always followed by an Auror), could eat relatively nice meals at the muggle's home, could devour a mighty feast at his home.

Standing, he mentally shook himself. _Hold it together. _His uniform was dusty, but he didn't bother to pat down the clothes as they were already quite dirty. The white of the stripes was turning light grey in places and the black stripes had spots of white, dusty patches all over. As for the coat, it had seen better days, and wasn't as white as it had been when he'd been given it. The ends of the sleeves and coat bottom were particularly murky, but seeing as he could do nothing, he disregarded his messy appearance.

Staring at the place in the stairs where the spell had hit, Harry was surprised to find he could look right down to the next floor. A fair chunk of the stairs was missing, yet it wasn't enough that he couldn't get across. He'd just have to jump. Taking a step back, he prepared himself. Even if he missed, he wouldn't die. But Harry didn't want to have to put up with the pain of bruised and possibly sprained ribs. Pausing one more second to think of the hilarious side to this, Harry dashed to the edge and jumped, grasping the other stair tightly. Dangling for a moment in order to get his breath back, he pushed himself up and over to lie down. _I made it. Well, at least I accomplished something. _Hanging over the side of the stairs once more, Harry was disappointed to still not see a single soul. _They must be in the main hall. _He was almost tempted into going there, before remembering he had been assigned a task. _The healer's office, right. _Something else caught his eye on the way down. A huge hole in the wall, leading to the outside. The insides of the wall were frozen, due to being exposed to the dementors. _The dementors._ He almost ran back upstairs right there, before recalling the gap in the stairs. He couldn't jump back up, wouldn't make it. He'd have to run past, very fast. Frustration hit Harry as he couldn't risk staying long enough to glance for more than a second outside. Any longer and the dementors would surely have him. No, he was going to have to keep running until he got to the right floor, and hope nothing was following him. Breathing, he got ready to run.

_3…2…1…GO! _Harry ran as fast as he could, hoping he wouldn't fall and trip…maybe break a bone or his neck. The little he saw of outside was dark, but it was enough to satisfy him. He knew, with a certainty, that it was night. Late at night. The fact reassured him somehow, and he didn't question it. He saw clouds, thick grey clouds that were moving so swiftly across the dark sky. Harry had also felt a gust of wind blow in his face, which felt immensely great, causing him to grin widely as he rushed madly down the long flight of stairs. Before he could help it, he was chuckling lightly, so joyous at having felt a slice of nature's wrath, of freedom.

Harry was almost halfway down the stairs when he saw the familiar floor that led to the hospital. With little hesitation, he opened the door and quickly entered the office, slamming the door shut behind him. _I'm safe._

He breathed a sigh of relief as, leaning against the door, he saw he was alone. Finding out Death Eaters were storming into Azkaban and almost being blown up by an explosive spell was quite enough in terms of excitement for one day. Never mind the confrontation between the healer and Dawlish. _I wonder if they're still fighting? _

_-HP-_

Manic laughter echoed around the destroyed main hall of Azkaban. It was hardly recognisable to the neat, plain hall of a few hours earlier. Now, the walls lay in large piles on the floor, and the walls that had been spared were severely marked. Black scorch marks could be seen covering various sections of the stone, and there were even gaping holes in the thick walls. The fight was fierce, yet that didn't stop the Death Eaters from enjoying themselves. Shrouded in black wispy smoke, Bellatrix Lestrange flew madly around the room, cackling in amusement. Her face was visible now; having discarded her mask once the battle had started. There was only one female Death Eater, so it was useless to cover up her face. Suddenly she dived down to the stone floor, the same black shape covering her. The targeted spot on the ground was abruptly covered in the dark substance. Like clouds the smoke rippled and twisted, forming a sort of twister the height of a human. Emerging in the middle, as the black smoke spun around her, was the female Death Eater. The black trail of her descent remained in the air but as she reappeared it began to fade.

Using her sudden landing to her advantage, Bellatrix quickly turned and raised her wand to an Azkaban guard. Before he had time to even utter a sound, red enveloped his vision and he fell to the ground, writhing and screaming. To his cries, the witch laughed louder, her child-like delight from causing the torture was both angelic and demonic. She portrayed such innocence through her face, that showed only truth, and she eyed the man like a child would look at an interesting toy or animal. But her actions conveyed the flaw in her joy, for in order to feel such sadistic delight another needed to experience pain. Withdrawing the curse, Bellatrix allowed the man to rise, albeit shakily. However before he had fully risen, the guard, now aware of the location of his attacker, fired a quick sneaky spell.

"Stupefy!"

Unfortunately, the witch had anticipated such a move and merely blocked the weak attempt, stepping forward. Her dark eyes widened drastically and she grinned toothily. Still walking forward, she began to cast curses slowly, one after the other, each as lethal as the next, yet she refrained from casting the Killing curse. The guard noticed yet couldn't bring himself to feel relief. Bellatrix was playing with him and when she tired of her games, his death would be imminent. The tempo of the spells became faster as she challenged the man to dodge all the spells she threw at him. Under the onslaught, the guard was losing terribly, not skilled enough to face a trained Death Eater. The Azkaban staff were all dependant on the Aurors, and could only wait anxiously for them to arrive, hoping they could hold out until then.

Then to his luck, the guard managed to get a hit on the mad witch.

"Impedimenta!"

The blast from the spell forced Bellatrix off her feet, sending her crashing into a pile of rubble. For a moment, the guard was able to rest and get his bearings, but not for long as the Death Eater stood upright. The spell hadn't been powerful enough to knock her out, something the guard regretted promptly. The terrible smile was still present on Bellatrix's face, but her eyes now held a mad glint that warned of her anger.

Laughing, Bellatrix began her final volley of attacks. Curse after curse was fired, all barely blocked. The man tried to ploy his own attack but none came close to hitting the witch.

"Stupe-" He began.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" She shouted at last.

The bright green curse surged forward on command, heading towards the man who was wide open, with no time to retaliate.

_-HP-_

Glancing around the hall, Dolohov sighted Bellatrix eagerly duelling another guard. Grinning, though his expression was covered by his mask, he made to head towards them when a movement in front of him to the right caught his attention. It was a guard, one of the last ones left in the main hall. Foolishly, the man stepped forward, trying to appear brave. The Death Eater smiled, sensing his fear.

"Confringo!" Encouraged Dolohov, making the other fight back.

"Protego!" The guard yelled.

Smirking, Dolohov raised his wand and hurriedly sent two curses towards the guard. Predictably, the man dodged to the left in order to escape and then cast another shield in front of him; in case of any curses he hadn't spotted. Only, the Death Eater expected this and zoomed to the man's left side in a cloud of black. Not realising his opponent had suddenly gone after darting so rapidly to the left to dodge the spells, the guard jolted at a shadow lingering in the corner of his eye. Shocked, he stared upon Dolohov. The Death Eater was wrapped in the black, flowing smoke but his head was visible, making him look like a grim reaper in a fluttering cloak. With his wand arm ahead of him and his head facing towards Dolohov, the guard could only watch in fear. The Death Eater's grin widened as he pointed his wand at the other's chest, directly over his heart.

"Deprimo." He exhaled gladly.

The guard's eyes widened as everything seemed to halt. Like in slow motion the moment seemed to last forever. He began to heave, and his heart suddenly felt extremely tight. The Death Eater watched as his face turned deathly pale. The guard felt warm liquid dribble from the corner of his mouth, his knees gave out on him and he dropped on all fours. Staring at the floor, the man saw red droplets of liquid collect, dripping steadily. Then he was gushing blood, so much blood. It was pouring out of his mouth as he heaved and coughed, gasping as he choked on the red fluid. All had happened within a few seconds, and finally it seemed his heart had been clenched tightly by an iron first, becoming compressed. Making one last gurgling sound, the guard's blood-shot eyes dulled and he hit the floor, blood still streaming out of his mouth.

_-HP-_

Just as the Killing curse was about to hit the stunned man, a bright flash of white light formed in front of him. Coming out of the light was Remus Lupin, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. The guard behind him sighed; with the help arriving they had a better chance at surviving. In came more flashes of white from the destroyed walls as more members of the Order flooded into the room. Kingsley, Moody and Tonks were here as well as some nameless Aurors. Each of them began to face off against the Death Eaters whilst bursts of colourful sparks filled the ruined hall. Bellatrix was one of the first to duel, eagerly baring her wand at Lupin, who had deflected her fatal curse. Moody and Kingsley were forced to take on two Death Eaters at once, but seemed to be fairing reasonably against them. Tonks was facing Avery, and was sufficiently holding her own against him. Everyone was fighting for their lives; even the Order and Aurors were holding nothing back

Stepping back, Bellatrix smiled nastily at the werewolf before raising her wand in the air, aiming for an opening in the walls, where the sky could clearly be seen.

"Morsmordre."

At that, the sky began to twist and form the notorious symbol of terror and fear belonging to Lord Voldemort and his followers. Laughing, the witch turned back towards Lupin and began the duel. Her duty to inform the Dark Lord had been fulfilled and now, they could only stall for time whilst Voldemort gathered the desired boy.

_-HP-_

Lord Voldemort had just finished searching the floor for the boy when suddenly he felt a strange, yet not unfamiliar, sensation that alerted him to one of his follower's summons. Immediate anger rushed throughout him. He despised the means of contact, to be summoned like a mere servant. It degraded him, yet the Dark Lord would tolerate such means if it meant acquiring the boy. When the rush of hatred had passed, delight coursed around his chilled body. _They have the boy…_After seeing the Dark Mark clear and bold in the sky, he had realised with irritation that the Aurors had arrived and he'd yet to find Potter. Due to the partly destroyed building, the anti-apparition wards surrounding the prison had weakened, allowing Voldemort to apparate inside Azkaban.

The stone walls and floor distorted as he was swept away. The Dark Lord was met with an uncomfortable feeling of being forced through a tight tube before landing gracefully. He had been taken to the top floor where Macnair, still in the guise of healer Galen, stood overlooking the fallen figure of Dawlish. Whether he was dead or not was of no concern to Lord Voldemort as he slithered towards his follower menacingly. His wrath spiked dangerously at not seeing the expected boy.

"Where is the boy, Macnair?" He hissed as his red eyes narrowed.

"My Lord, I sent the boy to the healer's office on a floor halfway down the stairs. He should still be there, My Lord." Macnair uttered.

The Dark Lord was still frustrated at not having the boy by now, yet he refrained from venting his annoyance onto the Death Eater.

"Very well." He spared a glance at the still-breathing Auror. "Kill him and then aid the rest." At that, he left to apparate swiftly to the middle of the staircase.

_You'll be in my hands soon, Harry._

_-HP-_

Fury came off in waves around him. His usually twinkling eyes were glinting with rage that contorted the rest of his face. The bright robes behind him were fluttering quickly as he walked down the hallway. A body lying on the floor met him, and he rushed over. He had ignored all else, the fighting downstairs, the holes in the walls, the Dark Mark high in the sky…all just to carry on walking. But now, seeing the fallen man, he stared in disbelief. It was Dawlish the Auror, and he was dead. _This…can't be by chance. _Darting his eyes to the left, he saw a single door.

The place was falling apart. The Death Eaters had certainly held nothing back; only the floors from the middle upwards were unscathed, overlooking a few broken walls here and there. Rushing, he entered the door to the left. Inside was a single cell. _Would they have come for the boy? How could they find out? _Uneasy eyes settled on the half-opened cell door. _No…_Gritting his teeth in tightly-restrained rage, he looked around the empty cell.

A thought struck him. _If the Death Eaters remain, then the boy must still be here. _Wasting no time, he walked briskly, intent on acquiring the information needed from a stray Death Eater, willing or not.

_-HP-_

Harry had sat in the office for a while now, seated in the healer's chair so he could see if anyone entered. He wasn't unintelligent; he wouldn't just remain in his seat while the door opened. No, even if it was the healer, before he could be sure, he would hide under the desk. There was little else he could do. As humiliating as it was, Harry had no choice. Resorting to hiding like a child and waiting for the healer to identify himself. Sighing, he turned to look outside, wishing for nothing more than to be out there right now, freezing in the rain and cold wind. The clouds were a dull grey, like in a storm, all that was missing was the thunder and lightning.

To his shock, the clouds began to twist and mix together, becoming a dull greenish colour that brightened considerably when caught in the moon's gaze, turning into a glowing greenish white. Placing his hands on the cool window (he hadn't registered ever moving), Harry stared at the omnipotent skull floating in the sky, seemingly looking straight at him. _The healer wasn't lying…they really are here. _A fierce rush of delight left him shuddering, stumbling his knees hit the back of the desk. _W-What was that? _The image of a pale, snake-like man came to the forefront of his mind. _No…it can't be…him? _No sooner had that thought crossed his mind when a sickening throb of pain pulsed from his scar. Hissing, he clasped his forehead with both of his hands. Tears formed in Harry's eyes and a sudden daunting feeling flashed through his body, like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. It felt like a musical cymbal had been hit inside his chest, and the deep echo had reverberated around his body, bouncing off every bone, muscle, and organ. Glancing behind him he saw, to his utmost terror, a shadow standing outside the door. The black form was still. Terrified, Harry knelt down and hid in the space of the desk, between the drawers on each side. The chair sat in front of him and the boy could only look fearfully at the window, hoping no one would come behind the desk. Breathing as slowly and silently as he could, Harry listened out for the opening of the door.

Slowly, torturously even, the door handle turned. _Oh God no…_Harry was shaking, wishing to hear the healers' voice. The door closed again, but he didn't dare look out, lest the stranger still be in the room.

_Just say it._

It was so quiet, nothing moved. All except the infuriating clock that seemed to only get louder.

_Just say it…_

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry hugged his knees to his chest. _Is it a Death Eater? _The burning ache of his scar was still present, but rather than it being unsettling, Harry found it kept his mind off the terrifying situation. The pain kept him grounded, kept him silent.

_Just say 'You can come out now, Potter.'_

"I know you're here, Harry." Icy fear clutched Harry's heart as the man hissed softly in amusement.

Harry's head had shot up at the man's voice, unable to believe who he was.

_This can't be happening…_

But it was. He was here. He was here and he knew that Harry was in the room! The boy felt like he was choking, his heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was certain the man could hear it. The man crept forward slowly, teasingly.

"There's no use in hiding, Harry."

With each step he took, the greater the pain became for Harry. It was now a ferocious burn and he had to bite his lip in order to stop himself from groaning in pain. _He's here…I'm trapped. I can't get out._

Another step.

"I can hear your thoughts…"

A whimper reverberated up Harry's throat, but his mouth remained firmly closed.

"…your anger…" The man continued silkily.

_Someone…someone please help me! _The voice was getting nearer.

Another step, like a snake cornering its prey.

"…your pain…"

_He knows…he must know where I am! _Tears were threatening to fall but he stubbornly held them back, unwilling to show further weakness. This was like a nightmare, a never-ending nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

Black robes appeared to stand beside the chair. Still holding his knees to his chest, Harry's eyes slowly looked at the robes before his eyes fell to the pair of pale, white feet hidden partly by the cloak-like, black material.

"…and your fear."

The robes moved as the figure knelt over. Scared beyond reason, Harry watched as more of the man was revealed. A shoulder…a pale neck…_I'm going to die._

And there he was. His living nightmare. The man's pale, skeletal face was peering under the desk like a knowing parent or guardian. His blood-red eyes shone with humour. His lips twisted into a smirk. The man looked at Harry with victory and glee, but Harry made no other gesture save for the widening of his eyes.

"There you are, Harry." Voldemort said.

A spider-like hand reached out towards him to drag him out of his hiding place. Harry leaned away from it, but couldn't move any further due to the wood at his back. He let go of his knees in an effort to gain as much distance as he could from the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort only smirked wider, knowingly, enjoying Harry's display of fear. The hand still reached forward, roughly grabbing his right arm and forcing him out from under the desk. Voldemort dragged him up to stand, both hands clutching Harry's arms.

"No! Don't touch me!" Harry began to struggle.

His own hands pushed at Voldemort's chest, but he didn't budge an inch. Trying to wrench the man's grip off of him only caused Voldemort to tighten his hold. Letting out a pained gasp, Harry saw no alternative. With all other hope lost, he began to physically attack the Dark Lord. Pounding his fists against the immovable chest and kicking his shins as hard as he could, not stopping until he had been let go, or killed. Before Harry's outburst, the Dark Lord had been surveying the boy with interest, keen to see what his next action would be. At the resistance, his red orbs had narrowed in warning.

"That is enough." The piercing order stilled Harry as a mild Stinging hex was sent to both the boy's arms. Determinedly Harry carried on, his panic steadily rising.

At continuing, Voldemort took each of the boy's wrists in his right hand before wrenching Harry's hair back harshly with his other hand. Due to the healer's coat, Voldemort's hands did not directly touch any of Harry's skin.

"Do not make me repeat myself, Harry." He threatened.

"L-Let go of m-me!" Harry yelled, willing to do anything to stop Voldemort from physically touching him. As foolish as it was to fight against him, Harry was too terrified at having another grasp him so roughly to even think about the consequences. Memories of the muggle's actions resurfaced after being locked away for so long.

Instantly Voldemort reacted, in silence and with the air of absolute control. Releasing Harry's hair, the Dark Lord peered down at the boy. Harry's green eyes clashed with red. What happened next wasn't the usual 'Crucio' or even 'Avada Kedavra'. It was much more lethal than that. Looking upon Lord Voldemort's face, Harry felt a sense of foreboding as the snake-like man released a grin that could only mean pain.

Harry grew silent and still at Lord Voldemort's gaze, much like a deer caught in the glare of headlights - too startled to dash to safety and yet their frightened, wide eyes pleaded to survive all the same. The boy remained as still as a statue, as if his own immobility would cast an invisible veil over him, unaware of the charm Voldemort had placed around the room upon entering to shield their voices from the outside.

The Dark Lord, though intending to punish the boy for his disrespect, also couldn't help but feel excited at having Harry at his mercy. It had always intrigued him, the connection of his mind with the boy's. And the effect he had on the boy, merely by touching his flesh…was fascinating. Lord Voldemort raised his left hand once more. It shot out suddenly, clasping the back of Harry's head to ensure he couldn't move away. With his palm hovering against the side of the boy's head, not quite touching the skin, Voldemort took note of the pale, trembling boy. His skin was off slightly; his eyes were blood-shot. Harry's face glistened with drying tear trails whilst on his right cheek was a cut the length of an inch. A thin stream of dried blood came from it, ending near Harry's chin. The Dark Lord lifted his left thumb and hovered it over the boy's face, waiting. He seemed to ignore the boy's protests, like he couldn't hear him. Lowering his thumb, Voldemort placed it on the cursed scar, greedily looking for the boy's reaction.

Harry's response was instantaneous. As soon as the snake-like man's skin had met his, a white-hot pain overtook him. For a moment, his vision became white from the agony running through him, like a lightning bolt. Screaming, he attempted to move away, but Voldemort only dug his thumb deeper into his scar, laughing softly. The tears Harry had restrained were falling as shivers racked his weakened body. _Kill me already…_And then it was over. Taking in deep gulps of air, Harry stumbled to the side as Voldemort released his head and wrists. He tried to steady himself as his legs shook violently, whilst trying to move away from the Dark Lord. Said Dark Lord only pulled him back, his left hand firmly clasped on the boy's arm, holding him easily.

"G-Get a-away." Harry gasped, weakly pushing at Voldemort's chest.

Harry was swaying, the day's activities abruptly catching up to him like a torrential downpour.

Voldemort disregarded his request, pulling him closer. His red eyes still gazed at Harry, as if the boy held so many secrets. Leaning in close, the Dark Lord spoke softly.

"Behave yourself, Harry."

Those were the last words he heard, before a flicker of red registered, and then the world turned black.

Securing the boy by holding Harry's shoulders to his chest, Voldemort spoke, not to himself but to his Death Eaters.

The rest were fighting, some bloodier than others. Out of nowhere, a cold, familiar voice entered their ears, their mind, loud and clear. As if it was actually coming from their own inner voice. None stopped in their duels, but all listened intently.

"I have secured Harry Potter. You will all retreat and leave here immediately." Voldemort commanded.

Smirking at the unconscious boy in his hold, Lord Voldemort disapparated along with the Death Eaters. The Dark Mark remained outside, dark and foreboding in the gloomy night sky.

* * *

><p>Ah, I'm pleased with that one. Truly I am. Though I'm not sure whether I should have split it into two chapters. Oh well, there's more for you to read!<p>

If you're interested in trying out some classical music (like I have just begun to listen to), I implore you to listen to Vivaldi's 'La Follia', it's simply delightful! Definitely my favourite classical piece yet.

To sate my curiosity, have any of you ever felt so excited, happy that you can't stop shivering, only to end up smiling or laughing? To be honest, I always feel that way regarding books I like to read etc. but when asking my brother; he denies ever feeling that way. Hmm, food for thought! Take care, my faithful followers! (I've relented).


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series!

**Summary thus far**: After being sent to Azkaban for murdering his three muggle relatives, Harry struggles to cope within the confines of the prison. Dumbledore has betrayed him, along with the Ministry. He doubts anyone besides a select few know he's being kept there. Unbeknownst to Harry, there are people out searching for him. Though not those he'd expect. Once it has been brought to the attention of the Dark Lord where Harry Potter lies, he immediately begins to question Dumbledore's motives concerning the supposed 'Chosen One'. Deciding it best to take the boy himself, whilst Harry's loyalities towards Dumbledore were broken, Voldemort concocted a plan. During the attack at Azkaban the Death Eaters rampaged, allowing Voldemort time to locate and grab Harry Potter.

**URGENT NEWS, PLEASE READ**: FanFiction is currently planning (I believe) to remove a vast number of HP fan fictions due to (once again, I'm not sure) parents complaining about the content their children can access, despite our obvious ratings warning of such content. Therefore, I'm not sure if this story will be taken down. If so, it's been a blast, and I cannot thank you enough for the support you've given me and this story. I will be putting the petition up on my profile so please do check it out, and if you feel strongly enough about it as I do, I urge you to sign it!

Firstly, I can only deeply apologize for leaving this story for almost a year without an update. I am gravely ashamed of myself, and am so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. For those of my faithful followers who still remain and have been anxiously awaiting an update, this chapter is dedicated entirely to you! And for those who have just stumbled across this story, I welcome you heartily and hope you have enjoyed it thus far, and continue to enjoy it. As much as I'd like to say I will be updating regularly from now onwards, I simply cannot. It is the summer holidays now so I should be able to continue the story like I have been wanting to, but have been up until now preoccupied with University work. However, once term starts again in September, I'm afraid another long break between updates may occur again. I can only ask that you will be patient and not lose any enthusiasm and fondness you have for this story!

And can I just say a huge thank you to those of you who reviewed, favourited, and alerted this story so far. I was simply amazed by the incredible response received from you, the readers, concerning the previous chapter! And after all this time, this story is still getting reviews, favourites, and alerts! You are all truly wonderful, and this story would be nothing without you. Thank you.

Oh and after re-reading the last chapter, I decided to make a few small changes. The first: after reading reviews and thinking more on the subject, I decided to change the Dark Mark to green instead of grey, much like the Dark Mark in the film Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire. Secondly: I decided to kill Dawlish, as it would be more logical since the Dark Lord would not risk any information being leaked out regarding himself, the Death Eaters, and Harry Potter. And lastly: I was unhappy with parts of Harry's reaction towards Voldemort in healer Galen's office so I made a few changes to make him more realistic, though none too drastic.

Now without further ado, it's been a long time coming but here it is! Chapter 10! We have reached double figures! Enjoy, and take care x

* * *

><p>17th August, 12:00pm<p>

A swarm of black swirling smoke flew through the open air, leaving behind the poisonous green sky for a more calm and serene midnight blue.

The Death Eaters were on the move, each keeping a relatively safe distance from one another. They glided swiftly and effortlessly through the sky, unwilling to stop for even a moment lest their pursuers should catch up to them. Although the anti-apparition wards encircling Azkaban had been significantly weakened during the attack, they had not been destroyed completely. Therefore, the Death Eaters were unable to apparate anywhere apart from within Azkaban itself. And so, the only means of departing from within the prison's walls was to leave the way they arrived: through a flurry of ferocious, tendril-like swirls of smoke. Streaks of black whizzed across the sky in steady formation, followed by a handful of bright white shapes about half a mile away. Even as the Death Eaters crossed the ocean and the first structures of civilisation on the coast of the North Sea could be seen a few miles away illuminated by blocks of deep yellow, the figures enveloped in black smoke refused to pause. A voice hissed in the silence, the sound reverberating all around them, carried by the growing wind.

"We seem to have some unexpected company. Prepare yourselves."

As soon as the order was given most of the dark shapes shifted in the air instantly. A few from the sides slowed and positioned themselves behind the rest, preparing to attack once the final order was given. The rest moved closer, as if becoming one. Only one did not alter their path, only one remained ahead of the others. The Dark Lord Voldemort continued steadily forward whilst his followers surveyed the area around him, seeming to dare the very trees to attack. The streams of white light appeared to draw closer and closer, and yet they didn't seem to faze the Death Eaters. The aurors grew bolder, faster, inspired by their apparent achievement. The Death Eaters showed no sign of worry or panic but looked ahead in determination, entrusting their lives entirely to the Dark Lord. The aurors were almost within firing distance and it seemed they were beginning to feel uneasy. Their enemies had yet to attack, had yet to respond. And then it dawned upon them, the realisation. But it was too late. Too late to retreat, too late to protect themselves fully.

For you see, the aurors weren't gaining on the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters were slowing down.

The Dark Lord was well known for being a patient man. He would wait for his chance, for the enemy's weakness, and then he would strike hard and fast. As soon as the aurors were spotted he had begun to slow down ever-so-slightly, and his movements had been dutifully followed by the Deaths Eaters without question. The continuous decrease in speed remained unnoticed by the aurors until the last moment. They were being led purposefully by the Dark wizards, and could do nothing but follow. To get within firing range now would be suicidal, and to attempt to retreat would also be deadly. The Light wizards were well and truly trapped. Unbeknownst to the turmoil of the aurors, the Death Eaters continued to mirror their Lords' actions with ease, their hawk-like eyes watching his every move. Suddenly, the Dark Lord's figure plunged downwards, the thin tendrils of smoke trailing after him, flowing in the breeze. The various wizards cloaked in black dived also, followed closely by the Light wizards, one group in excitement, the other in trepidation. The chase (if it could be called that) seemed to last forever, with neither side getting any closer to their destination. That notion was abruptly shattered as soon as Voldemort touched the ground. Each minute movement seemed to last an entire minute, and as the Dark Lord's feet slowly met the solid earth the following clouds of black spun around quickly, as if triggered by Voldemort's action, and formed a half circle. Facing the enemy, the Death Eaters didn't waste a second. The aurors were helpless in surprise and flying head-on into the frontal attack. Soon they were pounded by a shower of luminous green and red, the colours clashing together much like the opposing groups of wizards. As quickly as it came, the attack was halted and the Dark wizards lowered to stand behind their Lord and Master. Whilst they descended, the bodies of unfortunate, amateur aurors fell to the ground harshly, each making a 'thud!' as their lukewarm bodies collided with the earth, gradually becoming colder and colder as time passed.

The aurors (of those who survived) retaliated briskly, but all attacks were expected and blocked. Returning to solid ground, the aurors stood opposite to the Death Eaters a couple of yards apart. A few members of the Order were present, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley. The rest were either unknown or relatively new to the profession. Dark and Light gazed into each other's eyes now uncovered from the smoke. Some looked on in anger, others in fear, and others in delight. Though keeping a watchful eye on the Dark Lord, the aurors were also unable to look away from the impossible Boy-Who-Lived, who was currently unconscious and clutched to Voldemort's chest; his features were scrunched up as if in pain. This was the boy who had survived the killing curse, the boy who shouldn't have even been at the location at all, who was supposedly safe and sound resting after his traumatic experience. Instead, he was in the middle of a battle that was about to commence, and where many people would probably lose their lives. This was a scene no child would ever wish to be a part of and would flee to get away from it, and yet Harry Potter had been unwillingly dragged into such a situation certainly not for the first time, and probably not the last time either.

Both sides stood in a large field surrounded heavily by large, dense trees. The distant sound of waves hitting the shore showed that the cliff bordering the coast was near; they were still close to the ocean.

Just as the silence became deafening, Voldemort's mouth slowly moved into a grin, a devilish smirk. He seemed to revel in the fear coming from the aurors as they were caught in his unblinking stare. Their fear became his power, became his obsession. To strike fear into the hearts of many courageous wizards, to force a man to cower in sheer fright, were things the Dark Lord thrived on and would often burst into glorious, booming laughter at the sight of. A destroyed victim was the most fulfilling victim, after all. His blood-red eyes seemed to spot every movement, every twitch, and every tell-tale sign of weakness. Voldemort spoke all of a sudden to his loyal followers, the hisses escaping his mouth appearing ever-more animalistic in the wild setting.

"It seems we have some uninvited guests accompanying us this evening." Laughter. Lord Voldemort's grin widened as he looked at each of the aurors, who squirmed uncomfortably at the sound of his serpentine voice.

"No matter. Come; let us graciously welcome our guests. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is a terrible host!" As he spoke the Dark Lord gestured with his left hand in a sweeping motion from his chest to his left side, as if in a bow. His bone-white wand rested lazily in his open palm, waiting to strike.

The moment the gesture was over, the Death Eaters moved forwards on either side of Voldemort, like soldiers reacting to a signal from their commanding officer. Their faces were set and ready, and some even looked impatient, wishing the fight to start. Both sides raised their wands silently, and battle soon followed. Each group attacked with full force, with neither side allowing any survivors. This was an all-out battle, prisoners were no longer necessary. The aurors fought to defeat the Dark, the Death Eaters fought to defeat the Light.

_-HP-_

Alecto Carrow was one of the first to initiate an attack, glancing greedily at her possible opponents, searching for one that would provide her with the most entertainment. Her brother, Amycus, duelled to the right of her, and was a small, squat man with an irritable giggle. Likewise, the female Death Eater shared her brother's small frame, making them a spottable pair amongst the duellers. The striking resemblance was furthered as Alecto burst into a wheezing giggle identical to that of her brother's immediately after her duel began, hardly taking her challenger seriously. Once her victim was targeted she wasted no time in claiming the prey for herself. Sending a quick severing charm at the stunned auror, she invited them to participate in the murderous game. The female auror deflected the teasing spell and replied swiftly.

"Stupefy!" She cried as a red burst of light passed from her wand and was sent hurtling towards the witch. Giggling, the Death Eater retaliated, the spells becoming darker and darker.

"Confringo! Deprimo! Crucio!" With each spell she casted, Alecto would sweep her wand from side to side, becoming immersed in the performance of the duel. At last, a spell managed to connect.

"Defodio!"

A terrible cry erupted from the woman as deep gouges appeared all over her body, her clothes becoming heavily stained in blood. Gasping, she attempted to stem the flow of blood but to no avail as Alecto uttered her last spell.

"Diffindo."

The spell, whilst not particularly dangerous, was certainly not harmless, especially in battle. Even the lightest of spells became dark in battle, and as the spell shot towards the auror she could only watch as the light hit her neck, leaving a thin, horizontal line of red in its wake. A stream of blood immediately spurted from the wound; the auror's jugular had been cut. Sickly-grey and shaking, the auror gave one last glance to Alecto before collapsing on the floor in defeat. And so the game continued.

_-HP-_

Lucius considered himself one of the more…civilised Death Eaters. Whilst the rest would unashamedly behave like savages, he would not forget his position. He would not forget his pride. The name 'Malfoy' would not be dirtied by him through improper behaviour, and in that light, he would uphold to the traditions of decorum, even in a duel. His honour was eternal, even if his life was not. As a result, he waited for a challenger to come forth. A Malfoy did not go searching for a fight, after all.

A young man walked towards him. Withholding a sigh, Lucius noticed the signs of an amateur: the shaking limbs; the nervously darting eyes; the sweating complexion; and worst of all, the brash, naïve actions. _A Gryffindor_, he thought. _The most effective way to deal with this type is to catch them off-guard. Surprised, they lose composure._

The silver-haired man began his battle logically, studying his opponent's battle routine, finding their weaknesses, and then forming a strategy. He started by firing relatively minor stunning spells in order to test the man's capabilities, and to trick the auror into believing this was the extent of his power. Soon, the auror began to feel more confident and finally uttered a spell.

"Impedimenta!" He yelled.

Not letting the opportunity go to waste, Lucius answered.

"Crucio!"

The other paled considerable at the oncoming dark spell. Launching himself to the side just in time, he fell to the ground.

"Confringo!" Lucius' yell caused the man to frantically yank his head in the direction of the noise. The spell collided, causing flames to explode across his skin and clothes.

"Aguamenti!" He cried, directing the spell at himself. The jet of water soon doused the flames. The auror released a sigh that was short lived as a jet of green flew at his body and hit. His wand dropped to the floor and he followed suit. The dull, blue eyes were still in the process of widening in shock, and were to remain so forever.

Through pain and death the fight continued.

_-HP-_

A dull ache resided somewhere within him, though he knew not where. It was like a miniscule ball of fire that twisted and turned, growing slowly bigger by the second. Strangely enough, he was numb to the scalding burning sensation he knew he should be feeling. Then, the ball of fire separated into two. One rose higher, the other travelled right.

_I must be dreaming_, he thought idly.

He knew he had a body somewhere. He felt it, but he did not.

The dull ache became frequently sharp spikes of pain that would come and go, but always return. The balls of fire were still growing, and the more they grew, the fiercer the pain was. Gasping, he scrunched up his face in pain, He was now suddenly aware of his body as a thousand needles sunk into every corner of his skin. Spasms were being sent through his frame, removing any control he once had over his limbs.

_What is happening? Am I on fire? Is this death? _

Abruptly he was forced to cry out, finding no other alternative of letting his pain be known. The needle prick now resembled more of a knife stab, and still the heat increased, causing his body to coat itself in a thin layer of sweat. The agony escalated once again, and the boy feared he wouldn't be able to take much more. Screams tore from his throat as the fire seemingly took over his body, burning his flesh and bone.

Harry threw back his head to scream but no sound escaped, it was like the pain was so unbearable that his mind could no longer send signals of speech to his mouth, his body was shutting down. He could no longer pronounce sound. Blinking through the tears pouring from his scorching face, a pair of eyes entered his vision. Those eyes of flaming red seemed to mirror the raging inferno inside him, looking unblinkingly at his pained green eyes. Desperately he tried to ask what his voice could not, tried to ask for help. The boy shook as if having a seizure, his head lolling from left to right, throwing itself back and forth in pure agony against the man's chest. His mouth opened in mid-scream, though no sound escaped. His arms twitched uncontrollably. The two balls of fire had disappeared, becoming pinpoints for the sources of pain. He felt his forehead burning at being so close to Voldemort, unsure whether it was bleeding or not. The other source of pain was his right wrist, which was flaring in white-hot pain that sent spasms through his arm and over his whole shaking form. With desperate strength, Harry grasped his right wrist, intent on squeezing the pain away, or to at least show where the pain was coming from to the Dark Lord. So delirious with pain was Harry that he didn't even question why he was still alive or where he was. All he could do was writhe and struggle in painful torment.

He felt thin cords wrapping around him, binding his disobedient body. He was then placed gently on the ground, and still Voldemort towered over him, keenly studying him.

_-HP-_

Casting his cold, calculative gaze across the area, the Dark Lord watched as his Death Eaters fought against the meddling aurors. His left hand twitched unnoticeably, restlessly urging to fight. Sneering, Voldemort saw a foolish auror attempt to approach him, but who was caught off-guard by an attack from behind. _Another auror defeated…more magical blood needlessly spilled._

_We cannot risk remaining here for much longer; the rest of the Order will soon be on its way, along with the old coot._

Voldemort was all too aware that the aurors wouldn't dare attempt to create an anti-apparition ward, not whilst half the Order was absent and Dumbledore had yet to make his grand entrance. For the time being, they were winning. But all the same, the Dark Lord knew it would not be wise to stay any longer than necessary. They had to leave, and soon. The Death Eaters had almost reached the other side of the ocean when their pursuers had been sighted. With the enemy too close, they wouldn't have made it to the ground safely and fast enough to apparate before the aurors arrived. Due to this, the Dark Lord had decided to allow the aurors what they wanted – a fight.

Glancing shortly at the unconscious boy in his hold, Voldemort spotted something…off. The young wizard's face was scrunched up, like he was suffering. Standing still, Voldemort felt the boy's own body begin to tremble. Beads of sweat began to form on Harry's forehead although he was cold. Frowning, the Dark Lord wordlessly formed a shield around them both as he inspected the shivering boy.

_The boy seems to be in pain. But what is causing it?_

Suddenly Harry's astonishingly green eyes flew open, his chest lurching upwards as his head swung backwards. The boy's whole body was raked in uncontrollable twitches, and Voldemort struggled to keep a steady grip on Harry. As the shaking carried on, Voldemort made a swift movement with his wand arm. In the next moment, thin black ropes appeared out of nowhere and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry, stopping any movements from the neck downwards. Placing the boy on the ground, the Dark Lord carefully waved his wand above the boy's body, looking for signs of any possible explanation.

_He is injured and significantly weakened, but nothing explains these symptoms._

Harry's emerald green eyes glistened with fresh tears, pleading for the Dark Lord's assistance.

Holding his wand over Harry, a sudden spike in magic caused Voldemort to pause. The boy's right wrist was held tightly by his left arm. Grasping the wrist with no thought for the child's pain at his touch, he released the right hand from the hard grip.

_Ah. There you are._

And there it was. Gleaming jet-black against Harry's alabaster skin sat the individual symbols given to each Azkaban's prisoner, used to identify them. The symbols pulsated and throbbed on Harry's inner wrist, sending jolts of tremors throughout his small frame.

_These symbols…are the markings of an Azkaban prisoner. However they were not on his wrist in Azkaban which must mean they only appear once outside the prison. It seems to immobilise the prisoner using pain, rendering them powerless. To think the Ministry would be using such curses as this…this is Dark magic. But why go through the trouble of placing such a curse unless there is a way of locating and collecting the criminal? _As the realisation struck, Voldemort's eyes narrowed in agitation. _The Ministry must be tracking him._ In less than a minute the reasoning took place and Voldemort began his counterattack. Roughly grabbing the boy's wrist, the Dark Lord placed his wand against the bold, trembling mark and hissed almost inaudibly.

"Finite incantatem."

Harry convulsed violently as his left arm attempted to pry the Dark Lord's hand from his other wrist. Though no matter how much he pulled, the boy was simply too weak. His left hand sharply dug into Voldemort's arm, resolute on not letting go, as if he could channel his pain through to Voldemort. Harry's body shifted and struggled, trying to get away from the man. Said Dark Lord showed no display of emotion at Harry's actions, and continued with the spell. From his bone-coloured wand flowed thin wisps of white which seeped into Harry's wrist, covering the symbols from view. A thin wisp of white snaked itself around Harry's wrist, and as soon as both ends connected, it glowed brightly before sinking into the inflamed skin, much like the Ministry's curse had. Releasing a shaky gasp, Harry laid still except for the small tremors across his exhausted body. The hand clutching Voldemort's began to shake from the strain, and soon released itself from the grip and lay limp at his side. Harry's pants were interrupted frequently by desperate gasps for air, his throat burned as he breathed, like it was raw and swollen. His tired green eyes remained focused on the Dark Lord, and looked both fearful and curious.

Red light suddenly swam in front of his vision, and he knew no more.

_-HP-_

Once satisfied with the boy's behaviour, Voldemort shot a quick 'Stupefy' towards him, knocking Harry unconscious once more. The only proof of the past minutes' outcome being the thin stream of blood which fell from the boy's lightning bolt scar to the side of his head, before disappearing in his messy, dark hair. Moving his right arm underneath the boys' shoulders, Voldemort lifted Harry up slowly to a sitting position before placing his left arm underneath Harry's knees, effectively lifting the boy up as if he weighed little more than a bag of sugar. Frowning at the ridiculous image, Voldemort glared at the sleeping boy he was forced to carry before casting his glance aside to his Death Eaters. With the Boy-Who-Lived now taken care of for the moment, Voldemort quickly addressed his followers. His voice filled the field, though was only heard by a select few. As the fight continued, the Dark Lord spoke.

"Time is of the essence. Dumbledore and his puppets will soon be arriving. At my signal you will all create a Firestorm; this will allow us time to act appropriately unseen by our enemies. Do not allow them to pass through."

The Death Eaters continued to duel, patiently awaiting the order. And it came quickly, the Dark Lord's voice booming with power and command, as if releasing the devastating fire from slumber itself.

"Now."

With their wands raised as one, the Death Eaters released countless streams of raging fire that moved to form a thick wall of moving, scorching fire around them all. The swirling masses of angry red, orange, and white spun around them wildly. The Dark wizards focused entirely on controlling the flames to keep their shape, ensuring the safety of everyone within them. With the flaming barrier, the Death Eaters were no longer constrained by their enemies; they would be able to escape. The aurors, however, refused to give up but were struggling to break through the numerous walls of fire. After one would be parted, another would take its place.

Once the walls had been created, Voldemort cautiously spoke once again through the minds of his followers.

"You will all depart to the Manor and await my orders. Severus, you shall come with me. Now, go."

With the final order given, Severus moved to stand in front of the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort shifted his hold on Harry, placing the weight of the boy entirely on his right arm. With his left hand, the Dark Lord unexpectedly grasped the potion master's upper arm and without leaving Snape enough time to comprehend the action, Lord Voldemort disapparated along with them both, shielded from view by the ferocious walls of fire that instantly disappeared along with their castors.

_-HP-_

18th August, 1:00am

A seemingly desolate house stood on a hill overlooking a sleeping village. From the outside it looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. Most of the windows were boarded, and the ones that weren't were grimy, like they hadn't been cleaned for a very long time. There were a few holes in the roof where tiles should have been, allowing rain water into the attic, and surely spreading damp throughout the ceiling and walls of the aged house. A sea of ivy spread across most of the outer walls, almost like it was claiming the house for itself. The inside was no better. Although habitable, every surface, inch, and corner of the house was coated in thick dust. The furniture and objects were almost unrecognisable. Spider webs hung from various parts of the ceiling. The atmosphere and smell was musky and damp. On the second floor to the immediate right of the stairs was a door left slightly ajar. In the room sat an old fireplace, and in it were a few layers of ash, the remnants of a once bright, blazing fire lit within the now cold, dismal room. The contents of the fireplace seemed to be the only proof of anyone having lived in the abandoned house.

'Crack!'

Three figures appeared suddenly in front of the fireplace, two men cloaked in black, one carrying a sleeping boy. The man holding the boy stepped towards a large four-poster bed at the other end of the room. Making a brief flick of his wand, the dust covering the bed instantly disappeared and he proceeded to place the boy onto it before turning towards the other, who hadn't move since arriving.

Without a word, Voldemort drew closer to Snape, his cruel red eyes never leaving the Death Eater's jet-black ones.

"Were you aware of the Ministry's curse placed upon the Azkaban prisoners, Severus?" Voldemort hissed quietly.

Shocked as Severus was to have been transported to an unfamiliar building for an unknown purpose, he retained his composure and replied honestly.

"No, my Lord."

"It is an interesting curse, one that would be rarely associated with the Ministry." The Dark Lord gave a sinister smile. "Those fools are delving into that which they cannot even begin to comprehend, and which they are so quick to condemn. The curse placed upon the boy is Dark magic, Severus. It inflicts intense pain upon a person when triggered by distance, a perfect curse for the inhabitants of Azkaban. The creator shows knowledge of the Dark Arts, and may even rival you, Severus. However they are naïve to believe the curse is fool-proof. Dark magic is fuelled by power, by want. It isn't definite; it requires immeasurable amounts of willpower to control it, to bend it to your will. There will be a weakness. But the curse isn't only limited to causing pain. Its true potential lies in its ability to immobilise the person. In the case of Azkaban, any prisoners who managed to escape the prison would soon be found and collected."

"Collected, my Lord?" Snape questioned.

"Yes. It seems this curse contains a tracker which allows the Ministry to monitor the movements of the individual, making escape almost impossible. To begin to explore a branch of magic despised by the Ministry for generations…what would provoke the Ministry into using Dark magic? Or, perhaps, who?" At that he turned his eyes to look at the resting boy, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"I want you to research this curse, Severus. Find out who created it, for what purpose, and how it can be removed." The Dark Lord ordered.

"And of Potter, my Lord?" Snape questioned lightly.

"It seems even Harry Potter was subjected to the curse, but I have managed to neutralise its effects for now. The boy is greatly weakened. Monitor him, if there are any problems treat them quickly and quietly." Voldemort stated, glancing back at the motionless boy.

"Yes, my Lord." The potion master replied before moving to examine Harry.

Although his wrists were bare, the thrum of magic barely supressed under Harry's skin could be sensed by Snape as he passed his wand over the thin, pale arms. The boy's apparent weakness was clear: malnutrition leading to weight loss, multiple bruises and cuts covering his body though none were serious, and a dangerous exposure to extreme cold. Once explained to the Dark Lord, Snape summoned a selection of items needed to help the boy. Placing them on the bedside table, and to be used once Harry awakened, Snape wordlessly waved his wand, moving the covers of the bed from underneath Harry, making sure the boy's body stayed warm. After that was finished, he bowed to the Dark Lord in farewell before beginning his research on the mysterious Dark curse supposedly created by the Ministry.

Back in the gloomy house the Dark Lord sat in the now clean armchair beside the lit fire, his mind clearly preoccupied with more important things than watching the blazing embers. Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter rested a few feet from each other, and for the first time in each other's company there were no sudden flashes of green, no tortured screams. All was silent. The silence, however, was far from peaceful in the large house. The stagnant air was tense in anticipation, with nothing but the crackling fire and eerie creaks of old wood to interrupt the quiet. The red eyes that shone in the reflection of the flames were thoughtful, planning their next move.

_-HP-_

19th August

His first thought was one of joy. Warmth hugged his thin frame, a pleasant change from the blistering cold he was growing accustomed to. He felt weightless, floating on a material so comfortable, so soft, it was heavenly. As his eyelids started to flutter open, a sharp pain flared from his scar, immediately causing them to squeeze shut. Like a huge veil had been lifted from his mind, the memories of the two previous days were brought to his sudden attention uncovering the brutal truth of the situation. He had been taken from Azkaban by Voldemort. That statement alone was enough to leave anyone feeling anxious, but what was more terrifying was the cause of the discomfort coming from his scar. Lord Voldemort was near.

The room became deathly silent. Keeping his eyes shut, Harry quietened his breathing and lay still in the hopes that his consciousness remained unknown to everyone but himself.

An amused voice shattered the silence.

"I know you're awake, Harry."

Shocked, Harry's eyes opened allowing him to briefly register the strange room. He was laid on a large bed. The covers were of a forest-green colour and though clean looked worn and old. Moving into a sitting position, he took in the rest of the room. Straight facing him was a fireplace, its flames from the previous day long gone. An armchair was placed to the left of the fire, and was also relatively clean. The rest of the objects around the room were filthy. Ornaments and pictures were covered in dust and dirt, and the large window to the left of the bed was stained in the corners with a thick, black substance that changed from brown to light brown and then to a deep orange further up the glass.

Frantically looking for a place to escape, Harry realised he was trapped as he turned to face the Dark Lord. The man stood in front of the closed door, blocking the only exit, almost blending into the shadows with his stark black cloak. Streams of unimaginable power seeped from his towering figure, making the air feel like it sparked with electricity. The dark aura pulsed around and off the Dark Lord, and though it was unseen it still sent shivers down Harry's spine. An icy wave of fear spread throughout his body, escalating his heartbeat. Lord Voldemort grinned knowingly. Harry began to rise from the bed.

"Ah, ah, ah. There's nowhere you can escape, Harry. So be still." Voldemort's hard tone made Harry flinch and sent goosebumps down the back of his neck.

Clenching his teeth and flaring his eyes, Harry looked every bit like a caged, feral animal. Ignoring the Dark Lord's order he placed his feet on the floor, and was suddenly hit in the chest with the force of a big gust of wind which flung him back onto the bed. Gasping, Harry tried to sit up but found he could not. His limbs were frozen, as if held there by a powerful force. Moving his eyes over his body, Harry found no reason for his sudden immobility. Turning his eyes back to the tall, regal Dark Lord, Harry watched as the man released a slow, smug smirk.

"It would be wise to listen to me, Harry." Was all Voldemort said.

"Not a chance." Harry snarled viciously.

Voldemort frowned, the first warning that Harry was stepping close to the boundary of his leniency.

Almost unconsciously, Harry looked down at his right wrist, remembering all too well the horrific pain that had left him utterly powerless.

As if sensing Harry's thoughts, Voldemort answered.

"The mark has been taken care of for now; there is no need to worry. I must admit I hardly expected such a curse to be used by the Ministry."

"Taken care of?" Harry asked distrustfully, not taking much thought of the fact that he had just willingly established a conversation with the Dark Lord.

Smirking, Voldemort replied.

"Clever as the curse may be, it is still Dark magic, and therefore can be disabled by a more powerful curse. Though this particular one has only been disabled temporarily. I need more knowledge of the curse itself first before I can overwrite it completely."

Harry quietly looked at Voldemort questioningly, hesitatingly before deciding to ask: "But why would you even bother removing it from me?" Harry asked, before realising another more daunting question needed to be answered first. "...What curse did you place on me?" He paused, scared of the answer. _And why am I still able to ask? Shouldn't I be dead by now?_

"The last time we met, Harry Potter, I was intent on killing you." Disregarding Harry's questions, he spoke softly, as if speaking to himself. Slowly walking to the right side of the bed, Voldemort's pace more aptly resembled a slither, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor.

"Nevertheless, certain…incidents have come to my attention, and all of which seem to follow a similar pattern. There is one factor which links them all together – you. It appears that you, Harry Potter, are at the heart of a web of lies, deceptions, and corruption constructed by the Ministry. For what purpose, I remain, for the moment, unaware. And yet-" Voldemort stood to the right of Harry, peering quizzically down at him. "-they all, somehow, link back to you." He paused in thought.

Harry didn't dare make a sound. Pitiless red eyes bore into his own, his scar throbbing painfully. Suffocated by the pressure of the Dark Lord's magic from his close proximity, he couldn't move or speak; all he could do was watch as the snake-like man loomed over him, wondering if death would soon follow.

Voldemort continued, unperturbed by the silence.

"And so it seems that for now you are more useful to me alive than dead, Harry Potter. For now." He threatened subtly.

In an instant, Harry felt an invisible shroud fall from him, and subtly tried to move his little finger. He could move again.

"I won't help you." Harry said determinedly, managing to mask the tremors in his voice.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the blunt refusal of cooperation. Leaning closer to the boy, he sensed the discomfort in Harry eyes, all too aware of the boy's reaction to his touch. Harry, not willing to pretend he still couldn't move at the cost of excruciating pain from touching Voldemort's skin (not to mention the Dark Lord probably released it knowingly), he sat up quickly, intent on moving to stand on the other side of the bed.

"Is that so, Potter? Well I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter. Do not confuse usefulness with necessity, child. I shall be all too happy to remind you of your place, should you forget it. You will cooperate with my wishes, do you understand me?" Voldemort hissed fiercely.

Realising Harry's plan, Voldemort grasped the boy's hair from the side of Harry's head with his right hand and pulling it sharply backwards. Except for a few pained gasps, Harry remained silent, both his hands grasping Voldemort's in an effort to pry the offending hand from his hair. Releasing a cruel smile, Voldemort whispered in the boy's right ear.

"As I've told you once before, Harry, obedience is a virtue you need to learn. Must I be the one to teach it to you? If I recall correctly, our lesson was rudely interrupted last time. There will be no such disturbances this time."

"I-I don't know any-" Harry began, but was cut short as Voldemort released his hair and, drawing the same arm back, backhanded the boy's cheek viciously. As the hand connected, a piercing 'Smack!' filled the room, the force of the blow causing Harry's head to rear to the left.

"Do not lie to me! Lord Voldemort knows, he always knows."

"U-Using muggle means of pain now a-are we, Voldemort?" Harry gasped bravely, seeing himself as having nothing to lose. Though Harry knew it was wrong, he couldn't help but feel excited at provoking the Dark Lord. Maybe his mind really had been affected in Azkaban, or maybe he was just tired of not fighting back. Either way, seeing Lord Voldemort's face cloud in anger felt like a strange sort of triumph for Harry.

Silently, Voldemort stood tall and pointed his wand towards Harry.

"Crucio."

Screaming, Harry thrashed as the agony of a thousand or more knife wounds engulfed him. As real as it felt, no physical damage was done to his trembling figure, though that thought offered little comfort as the wave of pain rose to a new, more severe level. The curse was dropped, leaving Harry lying on his right side, panting for air. The feeling of victory far gone, Harry watched as Voldemort's hand moved to rest on top of his head, the sharp nails digging into his scalp.

"Poor, vulnerable Harry…so troubled, so misguided. All those you trusted have betrayed you. Don't you see, Harry? The Ministry and Dumbledore have been plotting against you for some time now. They've used you, and tried to break you into a perfect weapon. You're a liability now." Leaning close once again, Voldemort whispered to Harry. "They will attempt to silence you, child. You're on your own."

The words struck a few emotions within Harry, strengthening fears he had tried to forget. Swallowing, the boy looked into Voldemort's eyes.

"I-I don't know that for sure yet. My friends may-"

"Your friends have allowed you to be sent to Azkaban. If I had not taken you from the prison myself, they'd have let you rot in there, Harry." Voldemort hissed.

Anger flashed in the boy's vivid green eyes.

"And why have you taken me from there? Why didn't you just let me die in Azkaban?" Harry questioned, trying to raise his head. At this, Voldemort only dug his nails into Harry's scalp more, forcing him to stay lying down.

"There are many similarities between the two of us, Harry. We both grew up in a hateful muggle environment; we share hatred and distrust towards the Ministry and Dumbledore, and have both exacted revenge upon those who dared to abuse us. Perhaps Dumbledore feared the similarities…perhaps he saw too much of me within you."

"I am nothing like you." Harry nervously argued.

"Oh but you are, Harry. Your revenge upon the muggles was very…creative. More so than my own. Tell me Harry, how did it feel making them suffer? How did it feel hearing their screams, seeing their pain? I want the truth Harry. You aren't in the public eye here; there is only you and I." Voldemort laughed softly, though his eyes flared warningly.

"I-It felt…" He couldn't form the words, his head lowered.

"Tell me, Harry. Come now, that's it…" Voldemort reassured cunningly, though underneath his tone was a hidden threat that told of pain to come should Harry ignore his order.

"…satisfying. I was glad they were in pain. They deserved it." Harry spat out in hatred for the deceased muggles, his _family_.

"Yes." The Dark Lord drew out the 's', his mouth curled in a gleeful smile. "Let me see it, Harry. Let me share your glorious revenge."

Reaching his hands to either side of the boy's face, Voldemort ignored the struggles and stared deeply into the pain-filled green orbs. As his skin touched Harry's, the boy bit his lip tightly, not allowing any screams to escape his throat. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to turn away from the unblinking red orbs or close his eyes. He was unable to even blink, and so his eyes began to redden and tears started to form.

Memories flew across his and Lord Voldemort's mind: a cupboard under the stairs, an incident in a zoo followed by punishment from an angry, fat muggle, a large dog beneath a tree growling at a frightened, young boy, the many years' worth of beatings, the hidden food stored under a plank of wood, and finally, the fateful night that would change everything for Harry James Potter forever.

Voldemort watched as the young boy cried over the loss of his first true friend (barring Hagrid, of course), and looked on as the filthy muggle lay his unworthy hands on the poor child. Suddenly, something altered in the boys' eyes; his expression became dark and clouded in raw loathing. Withholding laughter, the Dark Lord watched as Harry performed an Unforgiveable that was shortly followed by another, his eyes sinfully happy. Harry burst into maniacal laughter at the sound of the fat muggle's screams. Having murdered two of the muggles, the boy then moved to wake up the large man, before unexpectedly plunging a sharp knife into the man's body over and over and over. To Voldemort, it was beautiful. The animalistic, pure, dark nature of the boy was simply impressive. For a boy born in the light to hide so much of himself in the shadows was fascinating. And for the first time Voldemort could imagine the worry on Dumbledore's face as he was told of the horrific events that had transpired at the muggles' residence and of the suspected perpetrator.

Releasing the boy, who had passed out from the pain, Voldemort made one last glance at the child he thought he knew so well, before turning and exiting the room. The numerous wards and spells placed upon the door and around the house ensuring Harry could not escape. The wards answered to him alone.

"There's potential in you yet, Harry." Voldemort purred, pleased and content

* * *

><p>I wasn't too sure about this chapter, whether I'd be able to still write like I used to, or if too much time had passed. The interaction between Voldemort and Harry took some time to write, as I wanted it to be perfect! If you feel this chapter is obviously weaker than the rest, please inform me. To be truthful, I'm not completely happy with it, but then again I'm never fully satisfied with what I've written. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it. Take care!<p> 


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